


Where the Rubber Meets the Road

by PatchworkPoltergeist



Category: Danny Phantom
Genre: Diary/Journal, F/M, ghost origin, gonna hit the highway like a battering ram on a silver-black phantom bike, shameless Americana
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-06-19
Updated: 2014-06-29
Packaged: 2018-02-05 08:42:16
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 22,476
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1812232
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PatchworkPoltergeist/pseuds/PatchworkPoltergeist
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Get this straight: I'm not a jinx. Jerks say that because when bad stuff goes down, somebody's gotta catch the blame.<br/>Let 'em talk. I got my bike and the best girl in the world on the back of it. That's more than enough.<br/>I'm startin' to wonder about these weird shadows, though...</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. All Revved Up With No Place to Go

"It's always something, there's always something going wrong   
That's the only guarantee, that's what this is all about"  
  
\- "Life's a Lemon and I Want My Money Back"; Meat Loaf

 

* * *

**November 9th, 1961**  
  
  
Pops’ guy lost the election.

I can’t really remember who it was that beat him, some young looking guy with a ridiculous accident and stupid hair (but really, all politicians have stupid hair).  
Whatever. I don’t really remember who he is, or who Pops’ guy was. Don’t really care, either. 

  
I just like that he lost. Ha.  
  
  
 **November 10th 1961**  
  
  
Right, so dig this:  
  
I’m sittin’ around in detention by myself “studying” like usual, when this cat in an ugly suit walks in, right? I think he was hired by the school to make sure I didn’t burn down the place. Or some new school councilor. Same thing. You know the type, pressed shirt, shoes way too shiny, nerdy glasses, plaid tie, and his suit was, like, the most boring shade of gray I’ve ever seen in my life. This guy could make Algebra class look hip, you know?  
  
But he wasn’t really like the other teachers or advisors, though. I could tell. They don’t really give you the look this guy was giving me. I mean, at least then they give you the whole nine yards, they’re honest about what they think of me.  
At least they got the decency to give you an honest scowl. You what I mean, that look that’s not really sayin’ that they hate you, because for them to hate you, that’d be giving you too much credit.

It’s like you’re not even worth hating. You can just tell that they just can’t wait for the day your car gets hit by a train or get you jumped on the way to school or get thrown in the slammer so’s they won’t have to put up with you anymore.  
Hey, that’s cool with me. Can’t say I feel any better about them, really. At least they let me know where they stand.  
  
But this dude in front of me, he’s _smiling_. It was way creepy. Like a shark or something. He just look way, way too friendly, you know? And not only does he give me that creepy grin, then he puts out his old sweaty hand and he says, get this, “It’s awful nice to meet you, Jonathan. I‘m Mr. Specter.”

I almost socked him in the face, I swear. First of all, just where does he get off talkin’ to me like I’m seven? But more importantly, the guy called me (ugh!) Jonathan. The last guy who called me by my full name ended up in Amity Hospital.  
  
I held my cool, though.  
Going off on this guy wouldn’t have been worth the effort, and he looked like the type that had friends in high places, and I wasn’t looking forward to going back to juvenile hall, the guys back there I’m not exactly on good terms with. I think the warden’s also got it in for me (he‘s still kinda steamed about me running over his mailbox). ‘Sides everything else, I was already late as it was for my meet with Poindexter, and that kid’s slippery. I wasn’t going to make this thing last any longer then it had to.  
But man, what I’d give to knock out that joker’s teeth.  
  
Anyway, when I don’t answer him, it doesn’t phase him, he just keeps holding out his sweaty hand expecting me to shake it, then finally decides to pull it back when he finally catches on that I’m not gonna. Then he sits back in the chair in font of me and starts going through my files (like I didn’t already know what I’ve been doin’ for the past five years) until he pulls out these records from, like, way back in the fifth grade.

  
He frowns, faking like he’s concerned, and he says in this voice that’s supposed to sound concerned but obviously isn’t that he thinks I have “potential”, which is something people always say to people who don’t have any at all. “Now look at that”, he says, “How do you suppose such a nice young man with such good grades ended up in such a situation, son? You’re such a bright young man, but you’re heading in the wrong direction, my boy. You’re throwing your future away. Why, you could go to Harvard or Brown, become a doctor or lawyer. A real productive member of society.”  
  
Pfft. Right.  
Who did this cat think he was kidding? My grades were never that good. Sure, back then they weren’t in the toilet like they are now, but they were never really good. Average at the very best. And what the heck was he goin’ on about Harvard? Come on, there’s no way they’d even let me cut the grass at Amity Junior College, much less Harvard.  
  
Then this Specter guy starts on about how my life could be if I stopped doin’ down what he called “the road to destruction”. Like talkin’ how one day I could be this successful businessman that carries a briefcase and works hard for the little wife and kids at home.  
  
Ha! Sure, I can just see it now:  
“Honey, I’m home!”  
“Oh dearest Jonathan, how was it at the office?”  
“Just _swell_! I got another raise and Clarence wants us over to play bridge next Friday!”  
  
Ugh. If that’s my future, I’ll just jump off a cliff right now.  
  
Oh, and I never did get to keep my appointment. My old man just happened to come by after I finally got outta school and dragged me over to the hardware store, then made me help fix the roof.  
  
Of all the rotten luck.  
  
  
 **November 11th, 1961**  
  
  
So, I caught up with Poindexter this morning as he came off the bus to “remind” him that I hadn’t forgotten about our meeting. I dunno if he really would have skipped out on me, but you can never be too careful with these brainy types. Keep ‘em under your thumb, y’know?  
  
But I don’t really think he would. He’s too chicken.

Plus, he’s getting’ a pretty good deal, my protecting his skinny butt for a week, and him giving me a motorbike in return.   
When I caught up with him, he kept sayin’ over and over how the bike really ain't all that great, how the motor's all messed up and the paint's a mess. Covering all the bases so I wouldn’t deck him later when I found out he gave me a lemon. Because I would.  
  
I told him I really didn’t care how good or bad the bike was, as long as it ran. I don’t think be believed me. It's true, though, I really don’t care how good it is; I can always fix it up later. If it runs, it’s good. If it doesn’t fall apart before I reach home, it’s good.

I just need a ride. Bad.  


Pops won’t let borrow the car since I wrecked it (how was I supposed to see that pole? It was right in the middle of the road!)  
  
Anyway, he’d better not skimp out on me. I’m takin’ a big chance, stickin’ my neck out like this, and with the luck I’ve been havin’ lately, I’m not sure if I can afford chances.  
  
  
 **November 12, 1961**  
  
  
I got it, baby!  
  
It’s old, it’s rusted, it coughs up smoke like a cat’s hairball, there’s hardly any paint left on it, the motor’s spent, and it’s missing half the parts, but it’s mine.  
I just love sayin’ that. Aw, man. Aw, MAN! This beautiful motorbike’s mine.

Not my ol’ man’s, not rented, not borrowed, not stolen, it’s just mine.  


Mine.  


Mine.  


**_MINE._**  
  
It may be a hunk of junk now, but just you wait. This baby’s gonna be the best darn thing on two wheels.  
  
  
 **November 13, 1961**  
  
  
Ok, this is getting ridiculous.

  
Last week I wreck the car. 

Beginning of this week, I keep missing my appointments with Poindexter. I gotta sit though the worst lecture in history. And now when I finally DO get the bike I can’t even work with it because I got the rap for something I didn’t even do.  
What’s the deal, man?  
  
It started when I was walking under the bleachers, just ditching Geography, mindin’ my own business when the whole thing just... just breaks. Whole crashed down just like that!  
SLAM! Totaled. Creamed. Outta _nowhere_.  
  
And then, get this: I’m in the science lab, pretending to work on acid and bases or whatever, and the sink next to me starts making a bubbling sound. Then this nasty, sludgy stuff comes oozing outta the sink, this awful greenish-brownish color. Stinks like crazy. Soon everybody’s covering their face and gagging, real bad scene.  
But then (and _this_ is the crazy part) by chance, my lighter falls out of my shirt pocket, rolls in the sink and FOOM! The sludge goes up in flames. I’m surprised the whole lab didn’t explode.

The fringe of my coat’s totally fried; I kinda like the look.  
  
Naturally, they blamed me for the whole thing. 

  
So the teacher tells the principal, the principal tells Pops, and now here I am up here, listening to records instead of working on the bike.  
  
Lame.  
  
  
 **November 14, 1961 (midnight)**  
  
  
Ok, I usually don’t make two entries on the same night, but I gotta write this down or even I’m not gonna believe me.  
I know how crazy this is gonna sound. I know how dumb this is gonna sound, believe me, I know.  
  
But I’m lookin’ at the shadows in my room right now, and they’re… _movin_ ’.  
Not like shadows usually move, these shadows are moving completely by themselves. Like, the trees outside are standin’ still, but the trees’ shadows are moving around like there’s a hurricane.  
  
It’s wigging me out. It seriously is.  
I just gotta write it down so I know I’m not crazy, that I didn’t imagine it.  
  
It-it’s just.

Oh, man. I am SO not digging this. 


	2. Dead Man's Curve

We go out in the world and take our chances   
Fate is just the weight of circumstances   
That's the way that lady luck dances   
Roll the bones   
  
\- Roll the Bones; Rush 

 

 

* * *

 

 

**November 18, 1961**  
  
  
Alright, so I know I haven’t checked back in a while, but I gotta good excuse. I’ve been busy workin’ on my motorcycle, and its comin’ along great!  
I ran into this joint down a couple of blocks from the soda shop that sold me some spare parts for crazy cheep. And not some old crummy dime-a-dozen clutches or anything like that, I’m talkin’ some top-notch stuff. I even found a replacement motor!  
I can’t believe I could afford it all. The place musta been goin’ outta business or run into hard times or something. I dunno, but I’m not about to question a good thing.  
So all weekend I’ve been haulin’ like crazy on this bike, and the old girl’s really starting to look like a real chopper, she’s really some piece of work under all that grime and rust. All she really needs now is a new kickstand and muffler, and of course, a few coats of paint.  
  
Which reminds me, I oughta look into buying paint when I get some more dough. I’m thinkin’, maybe it‘ll be… black. Black and silver chrome, burning rubber down the highway. Yeah. That’ll be boss.  
  
It ain’t all good news, though. The school’s been watchin’ me like a hawk after the lab thing, so I was stuck sitting through every one of my classes. It was the worst in Science. Since the labs are shot down, I got stuck watching filmstrips for an hour. We got to learn about shop class and the value of springs. SPRINGS, man!

  
Really. I could be doin’ something worthwhile with my time instead of learning about springs. Besides, I’ve seen more springs than I ever wanna see from working on the bike through the weekend. Whoever thought up this school system had rocks in their brain.  
  
  
 **November 19, 1961**  
  
  
I was supposed to watch Poindexter’s back today (I told him I would, and I am) during the lunch hour, but couldn’t find him anywhere. I checked his usual haunts - study hall, library, outside his locker, inside his locker - nothin’. I even checked all the bathrooms twice, thinking maybe somebody decided to take the guy for a “swim”, but it wasn’t too likely to find him in there anyway.  
The bathrooms are down for renovations again, along with the water fountains and a buncha the lights that busted out from nowhere.  
  
I swear, this school’s falling apart. I don’t know why people keep staring at me like **I** did it.  
I mean, sure, I was around when stuff got busted, but that don’t mean I busted it, right?  
  
You’d think by now they’d pick up that I don’t work like that. Stickin’ around the scene ain’t my style. Anyone with a brain would split soon as they got the chance.  
I mean, if anything, this stuff is Wolf’s style. You know Wolf. Big guy, kinda fuzzy around the face, taller than an elm tree. Clumsy and easy to catch.  
When I get caught, it’s just because I’m in the wrong place at the wrong time, I just didn’t have luck on my side, that’s all. But I ain’t clumsy.  
In any case, since I couldn’t watch the nerd’s back, I figured it’d be best for me to watch my own right now. I’m not really what you’d call a popular guy, especially after the bleachers thing.  
  
Turns out when the stands got creamed, half the football team got creamed with it. Now half the Ravens are hung up in the hospital for the rest of the season, and a good third of Casper’s lookin’ to take me out back for a good, long chat. Get my drift? I think you do.

Nobody’s really said anything to my face yet, but people are talking.They’re sayin’ that even I didn’t do nothin’ directly, even if I didn’t cause it, weird, nasty stuff still happens around me. Some of the more superstitious types are callin’ me a jinx. Like I attract bad luck and junk like that.   
This guy Mason, he sits behind me in Science, he tells my they’re starting to call me Johnny 13.  
  
Pff. Wow. _Real_ clever, guys.  
  
  
 **November 22, 1961**  
  
  
Okay.

Since my reputation’s gettin’ tossed around like a cat through a blender, I figure it’ll do me good to try and make nice with a couple of folks. Normally I’m not the social type, but you know, desperate times, desperate measures and all that jazz. I’m a loner, but I’m not an idiot. You need someone in a situation like this to watch out for you, you dig?   
  
The lame part is, at this point the only guys I could possibly join up with now are the beats and this uppity group of bikers that call themselves the Amity Angels. That is, if you can really call ’em a gang, I mean, there’s only about three of them. I’ve seen ‘em eyeballing me since they spotted me on the motorcycle a few days ago, back when I was first testing how it ran (runs like a dream, by the way) . They’ve been lookin’ even more now that all this weird stuff’s been happening.

Only, I’m not really down with the whole biker street gang thing; I ride alone, and I know they ain’t gonna sit pretty with that idea. Besides all that, the Angels’ leader is Wolf, and Wolf’s a serious moron.  
I mean, the guy goes and paints a perfectly good motorbike bright green, so everyone and his dog can see it, and then adds on these tacky red roses on the frame that get all glowey at night. It looks cool, sure, but it stands out way too much. It’s like a neon sign on wheels. What’s he gonna do when the cops get after him? Pull up next to a clown car and hope he blends in?  
  
Whatever.  
  
So, joining up with the Angels is completely out of the question, but that only leaves me with (shudder) the beatniks. And, I dunno if you’re aware of this, but beatniks are insane. Completely out of it, on another planet. All they ever say is backwards half baked philosophical junk I don’t even think they understand, and they talk about everything, but really, they talk about nothing because all their conversations go in circles.  
And for some reason, one of them, Mason, he insists on talking to be about “Catcher in the Rye” ALL THE TIME. And when I tell him I don‘t want to hear about it, he just says I don‘t get it because I haven‘t read it.

  
(Oh, for the record, I have read the book. Twice. Hated it. Twice. Geez, Holden, is anything not phony to you?)  
So, I’m on level ground with the beats, but if I spend another minute with them, I think I might have to bash my skull in before anyone else gets the chance.  
  
I think I might have to go this one alone.  
  
Oh, well. It’s not like I ain’t used to by now.  
  
  
 **November 23, 1961**  
  
  
Ya know, I’ve noticed something.  
  
A lotta weird stuff’s been happening lately, and a lotta bad luck’s been going around, but it just happens around me. Not to me.  
You know?  
  
Like the bleachers. They crashed down, but I wasn’t on ‘em. And the sink explodes, but I didn’t get soaked or nothing (my coat got a bit singed, but I don’t count that, since I dig the look anyway). Then today in front of Casper High, about four light poles started creaking and groaning, and then just collapsed in the parking lot. It took out a whole buncha cars, and one guy went for stitches because of the broken glass. But me? I was watching about ten feet away.  
Perfectly fine. Not a scratch on me.  
  
And while I was watching, I noticed the shadows started doin’ that weird thing again. It wasn’t as weird as the first time, when they were just going nuts, and it wasn’t all that noticeable, but they were obviously still moving by themselves.  
Not as spooky as the last time, being in broad daylight and all, but still pretty darn spooky.  
  
Sill no sign of the nerd. I decided to ask around the joints he usually hides out again. Maybe he switched schools.  
It’s not like I’m worried about him or anything, it’s just we did have a bargain, and I like to keep my end of things. I don’t like stuff hangin’ over my head.  
Stuff that hangs over your head eventually drops.  
  
  
 **November 25, 1961**  
  
  
Um… I think I’m screwed.  
  
It went like this:  
  
A few hours ago, I was ripping down Parkway after catching the midnight showing of “Teenage Mutant Space Zombie Queen IIV: The Revenge”, right?  
Now, it’s been raining all of this week and I guess it must have finally let up because the sky’s clearer than crystal. It’s a fine night; in fact, I think it’s the best one I seen since October, with no clouds so all the stars were out, but the moon was still new. There’s only a few streetlights on (cuz most of Parkway’s busted up) and it’s gotta be around two in the morning by the time I finally got outta the theater and hit the pavement.  
  
I gotta tell ya, there’s just nothing better than screaming down an empty street in the dead of night. It’s like you own the whole world, man.  
It’s just a long stretch of black, smooth road, the only light around’s the odd streetlamp and your own headlight cutting’ through the black, and beneath you’s that boss rumble of the motorcycle and the wind slapping your hair against your face.

Am I fast? Nah, man. 

Fast’s a snail in molasses on crutches compared to me. I’m goin’ so quick not even the freaky shadows can catch up to me, I’m screamin’ through the alleys so fast, not even my bad luck can catch me now. I ain’t ridin’, I’m _flyin_ ’.  
That’s what I’m thinkin’ as I’m cutting’ through all that night, grating the neighbors with all that beautiful engine noise.  
  
I’m so caught up in how beyond cool this whole thing is, I almost run over the chick in front of me.  
  
Good thing I didn’t; the poor kid looked like she’d had a rough enough night already. I think she’d been walking for some time because she looked way beat.  
I’m takin’ a good look to make sure I didn’t hurt her or nothin’ when I realize I seen her somewhere around Casper. Can’t pin where exactly, but I know I seen here somewhere in the building. I didn’t recognize her at first ‘cause of her wearing no makeup and all, but it was her alright.

If you ask me, I think she looked better that way. More real, you know? She was way too nice looking to be botherin’ with something so fake. Even if it looked like she hadn’t caught some Z’s in a couple of days and got run over by a train, she still looked fantastic because, like I said, she just looked…real. I like that.   
And because I really believed that (or because I was still freaked because I almost ran her over) I told her so.  
  
She gave me this scowl, probably thinkin’ I was some slimeball out lookin’ for skirts and told me to buzz off.

And normally, I would have. I mean, if a chick don’t wanna bother with me, I don’t wanna bother with her, you feel me? I don’t need that kinda hassle.   
But this was different. At least, it seemed different.  
So I stayed.  
  
I tell her then that I’m not out to score or nothin’ like that; I just wanted to point that out and to see if she was okay and that I really didn’t mean to run her over. The whole time I got this really stupid smirk on my face that I can’t get rid of. God, I musta looked like a straight square with that stupid look on my stupid face.

She didn’t seem to mind, though, because after I’m done explaining she gives me this half-smile back, even though I can tell she’s trying not to. She brushes her messed up bangs from her face and says to me, “You oughta watch where you park.”  


So I go, “Yeah, probably.”  


Then she goes, “You’re the jinx kid, right?”  
  
And for some reason her sayin that just… completely bummed me out. I mean, I’m not a jinx. I’m not. I know that’s what it looks like, but I swear I’m not. But her just knowin’ me as a jinx, as just “that bad-luck guy”… it bugged me.  
  
So, soundin’ maybe a little more hurt than I meant to, I say, “Yeah. But most call me Johnny.”  
She says, “Yeah! Yeah, that’s you. ‘Johnny 13, keeps himself a smooth machine, brings hard luck to the scene’”  
  
Geez, they got rhymes for me already? Boy, the crowd worked fast.  
  
I decided to ignore the “13” thing, figuring it’d be the cool thing to let it go, and I say, “I seen you around the halls. Kitten, yeah?”

Then, oh man, she gets the same doofy look I got on a second ago, only she adds this sweet little laugh, all bouncy and stuff. It was awesome. She goes, “It's Kitty, actually. But I don’t really mind ‘Kitten’.”   
  
For a while, the two of us don’t really say anything else. It’s just quiet, except for the rumbling of the bike and some neighbor dog yappin’ in the background.  
  
After a minute or two, I tell her that even though it ain’t really my business and all, a kid like her shouldn’t walkin’ home this late in this part of town. I tell here there are weirdos weirder than me out this time of night.

Kitty wants to know what I’m gonna do about it.  


I think for a sec, give her a grin and go, “This.” Just like that, I yank her on the bike and take off towards her place. As we’re riding down Parkway, and she’s givin’ me directions over the sound of the engine, (she knows just the right tone of voice for it, too) and I really can’t believe how good she is at turning with me around corners. I’ve seen a lotta girls just fall off the seat.   
  
When we pull up to her place I ask hat a sweet thing like her was doin’ on the side of the road like that in the first place.  
She counters by asking what I was doing on the opposite side of town.  
So, I tell her real cool-like how I was catchin’ a flick at the theater on Fifth. Then, I give her my charming look tell her how the flick was a good one, and that I could take her along with me next time, if she wants to.

As soon as I say it, I regret it. That’s just the sorta line chick don’t wanna hear, if six years’ experience taught me anything. I’m all ready to get a smack in the face, when instead, I just here her go, “Hmm. Why not?”  


I almost fell off the bike.   
  
Then, she walks to her door, waves before she goes in, givin’ me this cute, sly little wink before the door closes on her.  
  
Now, I’m feelin’ pretty good here, but then I notice something. And it’s then I’m rememberin’ where I saw Kitty from. I remember Wolfgang’s buddy Sketch tellin’ a guy to lay off The Wolf’s kid sister by the band hall.  
  
I notice there’s a motorcycle in the yard. It’s halfway driven into the bushes, but I can see it just enough to see the loud green paint and the two red roses glowing on the frame. Wolf’s bike.  
  
So… yeah. I’m screwed.  
  
Remember when I said how bad luck just happens around me, and not to me?  
  
I take it back.


	3. Hear My Motor Purr

_Don't want a four leaf clover, don't want an old horse shoe._   
_I want your kiss, cause I just can't miss with a good luck charm like you._   
  
_\- Elvis Presley, Good Luck Charm_

* * *

 

 **November 28, 1961**  
  
  
I figure Poindexter musta split for good. Nobody’s seen him for over a week, I mean, where else could he be?  
I don’t really blame him. This scene just keeps turnin’ more sour everywhere I look. I’m gettin’ the royal shaft here!  
  
Accordin’ to Mason (seriously, I don’t know why this cat keeps talkin’ to me, I almost never talk back), in the past few days the electricity’s gone out in the auditorium right in the middle of Casper’s crummy production of _My Fair Lady_ ; and then while the audience is pourin’ out, the water pipes all bust at the exact same time all over the west side of the school. Now, for some reason I just don’t get, that two-bit play seems to be big stuff around these parts… school tradition or something. I think besides homecoming, prom, the big games, and graduation, it’s the biggest part of the school year.  
And with the team down from the bleachers thing, well… It ain’t good.

  
I guess that explains why as soon as I step foot in the lunchroom… man, if looks could kill, I’d be dead a million times over. You’d think I‘d just killed the mascot the way they looked at me.  
  
And you know what? I wasn’t even _here_ the past few days!

I was stuck at home with a cold in my room, with my record player and bored out of my mind. Bored to tears. You know, I almost wish I _was_ there when all this junk went down, at least break the boredom in my stupid room. Or just to do it out of spite. Either one’s cool with me. 

I mean, what am I, the new scapegoat? Just because the nerd skipped town, everyone’s gotta find a new guy to take junk out on? Do I got black cats following me when I’m not lookin’ or what? Do they think I just snuck in and screwed up their stuff for kicks? Everyone knows I ain’t got no skills when it comes to sneakin’ around. I mean, I’m noisy. I run into stuff, I knock stuff over, like I said before, that’s usually how I get caught. You gotta move slow when you sneak around and slow just ain’t my thing.   
  
Oh! I almost forgot.  
  
Yesterday, while I was strolling around town, I caught up with the sweet thing I met on Parkway the other night. By caught up with, I mean spied on until she noticed me spyin’. And by noticed me spyin’, I mean the pyramid of canned peaches I was hiding behind collapsed.

Real smooth, Johnny. Real smooth. 

I’m not gonna bore you with small talk and my really stupid attempt at playin’ it cool (despite all the peaches). To cut a long (and sort of embarrassing) conversation short, I’m gonna meet up with Kitty on Friday, since her brother’s gonna be outta the house that night and her old man’ll still be out doin’…whatever work her ol’ man does. I didn’t ask, since I didn’t really care. 

Also, I noticed something before the peaches came crashin’ down. Kitten looked kinda steamed. All the time, she’s lookin’ like something got under her skin, like somethin’s wiggin’ her out. Like the next guy who looks at her the wrong way is gonna loose an arm. 

I should probably be worried about that. 

But I’m not. 

To be honest (and don’t tell her I told you this), she looks cute when she’s angry.  
  
  
 **November 29, 1961**  
  
  
Crud.

The place that sells the paint I was gonna use to spice up the bike? It closed early, and wouldn’t you know it, the guy who owns the place is goin’ out of town for who knows how long. Geez.  


I already got the finishing touches on the bike done a couple of days ago, when I was still gettin’ over the last of my cold before I went back to school, but the paint job is still real shoddy. I got some of the rust off, but its shoddy lookin’ all the same.  


And I know it’s just a paint job, and it’s not that big a deal, but I really, really want it to look good. I already screwed up my first impression with her almost running her over, and I really don’t have that much bread on me to show a real good time, but the least I can do is take her around on a bike that looks good.  
Oh, well.  
  
You know, I’m lookin’ kinda raggedy myself, now that I think about it.  
…I wonder if I should shave?  
  
  
 **November 30, 1961**  
  
Yikes!

It’s _freezing_ out there! It’s unreal. The white stuff’s just pouring outta the sky and it doesn’t look like it’s gonna stop anytime soon It’s not like a blizzard or anything like that, just steady snow.  


I hear we might even get freezing rain later on. I hope not tonight, I’d hate to make Kitty ride with me when it’s freezing rain slammin’ down on her.  


My old man thinks I’m gonna break my neck on frozen roads with a bike like this. (Obviously, Pops hasn’t seen me on a bike lately.) Even if we don’t get no freezing rain, we’re still gonna get snow, that’s for sure.   
  
Hm. I think I’m gonna take her one of mom’s old scarves. The purplish one. I mean, not like she’s gonna use it, she’s ’cross the country.

Most guys brings their girls presents for dates, right? I know most give flowers or candy or roller-skates or stuff, but I’m sort of short on bread right now (spent most of it on the bike) so I’m just gonna have to work with what I got. Besides, candy’s no good for ya anyways. Rots your teeth.  


Still, though… I kinda wish I could bring something a little better.  
  
I’ll check back later on tonight, when I get back.  
See you.  
  
  
 **November 31, 1961**  
  
  
Oh, boy. _What_ a night.  
  
Say, here’s an interesting fact: split-level houses ain’t easy to get into.

It’s true, most places around my way don’t have houses with more than one floor, and they’re only around on the other side of Amity Park, for guys who can afford it. 

Guess whose family can afford it? 

If you can’t, you haven’t been paying much attention. 

I mean, sure, you could always use a ladder or somethin’ to get to the top floor, but the thing is with ladders, they’re big. And tall. And heavy. Too big and tall and heavy to be dragging behind me on a motorcycle, and even if I could drag the thing to her house, there’d be nowhere for my girl to sit.   
Even so, when I was standin’ out there on the snow lookin’ up at Kitty’s place, I sure wished I had one and feelin’ pretty stupid for not planning this out better. I mean, even if I knew what window was hers, I didn’t know how to get up there. There wasn’t no tree or nothing to climb on except a gutter pipe, and I don’t think that thing coulda held a bird nest without falling apart.  
  
In the end, I decided to just chunk rocks at the only lit window in the place, hopin’ it was hers. I sorta…threw too hard. Got her attention, though.

Kitty sticks her head out the broken glass and glares down at me, hissing at me to keep it down. (I’m not exaggerating here, or using fancy description to impress you here, it really was a hiss. Like a cat.)

I shrug and tell her I just wanted to get her attention. She wants to know why I didn’t just knock. So I tell her knocking’s for chumps. She rolls her eyes and tells me not to bust anymore windows and she’ll be down in a minute. 

Pfft. Like that’s anything to go by. From personal experience, “a minute” can range anywhere from an actual minute to two hours, depending on the girl. (This particular girl, by the way took exactly five and a half minutes, if my watch is right) 

But you know what? It was worth it. She shows up in the doorway, and it’s just… _wow_.  


That’s just… all I can really say about it. Just…wow. I… wish I had a better to say it. It’s was like… It was almost like my heart exploded. Yeah, I know how dumb that sounds, but that’s as close to a description as I’m gonna get, I think. Now that I think back on it, she really didn’t look all that different from how she normally did, except for the change in clothes, but I know it wasn’t that. I really don’t know. 

We’re getting off track here.   
  
Anyway, she steps out in this cute little getup, in this skirt that’s all legs and stockings and heels, and she wore that little red jacket around her shoulders like she always does, but this time the color seemed brighter somehow. Actually, she just seemed a lot brighter on a whole, you know? Like she just owned the world, but wasn’t all that impressed with it. I dunno.

I guess I must have been staring, because she cocks an eyebrow at me and is all, “What?”  


“Um,” is what I say back because I can’t remember what I’m supposed to say in this situation. If I don’t say anything, she’ll be offended; if I just say she looks nice, she’ll think I’m lyin’; and if I tell her the truth, well… girls usually don’t like the truth.  


I say to her, sounding way smoother than I’m feelin’, “Uh, hey there, Kitten. It’s kinda cold out tonight for a skirt that little, doncha think?”  


She shrugs, “Maybe I just wanted to get your attention.”  


So then, I just smile at her, “Maybe it worked. But maybe you’re still gonna be pretty cold. And just maybe, I’m thinking’ you could use this”, and then I pull the scarf out of my pocket.  


Hey, did I mention before that Kitty’s got a great smile? Because she does. So, when she smiles at me as she wrapped around the scarf, I’m feelin’ pretty grateful.   
  
I took her to the midnight show, because theaters are always the best that time of night. Movies just seem a lot better when you’re all by yourself in a dark room alone with the screen, you dig?

On this occasion, though, there was this group of yo-yos up front that wouldn’t shut up. Kept making smart remarks every five seconds and tossin’ popcorn all over the place. Punks.   
  
It’s weird, though. About halfway through the movie, when the astronaut’s brain is getting eaten, this one guy, the real loud cat, he gets real sick from his lobby snacks and runs out in a flash, and then a second after that nearly all the chairs upfront broke all at once. When I caught a look at ’em when they were goin’ out, they looked real pale. Wigged, too. Like they’d seen a ghost or something.

Hey, whatever, I sure wasn’t complaining.  


Our flick I think was _The Horrible Robot Brains From Planet 9_ ; not a bad film, considerin’ there’s worse out there. But to be perfectly honest, it’s wasn’t really the flick I was watchin’. If you catch my drift.  
  
Best part of the night?  
Around the part where Johnson gets himself eaten by the robot brains, Kitty leans in on my side, wraps her hand around mine and squeezes.  
  
No, no, wait, the best part’s later on, when I start flyin’ down the Apparition Avenue, with the wind howling around us and she’s gripping me for dear life and I’m laughing like some sorta crazy guy.  
  
No, no. Hold on.  
I got it this time.  
  
The absolute, sure fire, just beyond boss part of tonight was when we get at Kitty’s place, near the soda shop, and I look back to see her leanin’ up on my back, like she aint’ got a care in the world. She looked more relaxed then I’ve ever seen her. Curled up all soft and sweet like that, her nickname really suits her, you know? And then I cut the motor, I hear this low hum, and I’m lookin’ around to see what it is, if maybe something’s up with the bike, but then I understand it’s Kitty. She’s…sort of making this humming sound. Real low, and real soft, but in that cold night it’s ringin’ clear as crystal.  
I just can’t help grinning as I realize my Kitten’s purring.

Yeah. Best part, for sure.  
  
  
 **December 4, 1961**  
  
  
Yeah, yeah, I know. It’s been a while since I checked it. I been busy lately.

…Okay, so I haven’t. I just lost the book. There, you want a medal or something?  
  
I think maybe I oughta lay low concerning my girl. I mean, folks are already giving me the stink eye, and I don’t think Kitty needs that kind of grief. I think the kid’s already got enough to handle already without me gumming up the works. And I think people are beginning to catch on about us.  
  
See, for the past few days, we’ve been meeting around the parking lot, since nobody hangs around there no more since the light post thing, when we can find a minute and talk about stuff. Nothin’ too big or small, just normal, ordinary stuff. School and pictures and stuff.  
  
She says that Sketch, the skinny little spaz that hangs around with Wolf, he was the one who first came up with the name “Amity Angels”. At first, Wolfgang was actually gonna call it “Wolf’s Gang.” That had me in stitches for about ten minutes.  
  
But anyway, as I was sayin’ before, I should probably lay low for now. Wolf’s been looking at me a little more nasty than normal, and it don‘t take a rocket scientist to figure out why.  
  
I ran into Sketch a few hours ago. He’s leanin’ on a lamppost in his ratty brown jacket, smelling like formaldehyde (musta been in the biology room, I hear something happened with the dissection frogs). And as I’m walkin’ by he smirks at me. Not bein’ the type of guy who just lets wise guys smirk at him, I turn and ask Sketch if he’s got some type of problem.  
  
Sketch smirks wider and says, “I ain’t gotta problem, Johnny. It looks to me like you’re lookin’ for one, though. If I ain’t mistaken.”  
  
“Yeah? Well, you been mistaken a lot, so I hear.”  
  
“Then maybe you need to clean out your ears,” he says. Then, he goes on, “I’ve heard interesting stuff lately, Johnny-boy. Mike tells me he’s been seein’ things around town, or if you wanna be more specific-like, around the movie house.”  
  
“Yeah, and?”  
  
“And he says you haven’t been traveling’ alone no more. I’ve been thinking’ about you, Johnny 13. I’ve been wonderin’ about the bad luck you been having lately. Say, did you know black cats are bad luck? Maybe that’s it. Maybe, I’m thinking, a cat’s crossed your path.”  
I ask him again, more serious this time, what it is Sketch wants. He passes a glance to my bike, then to me, then back to my bike.  
  
I did the mature thing and socked him in the jaw.  
  
  
 **December 6, 1961**  
  
  
Ha-HA! Check it out, man! Guess who just got a new paint job? C’mon, guess!  
  
The bike looks exactly like I pictured, better, even. Smooth, cool, shining black and silver chrome gleamin’ like the edge of a knife in the garage. I added this boss little flash of green on the edge. A nice little number thirteen. Nothin’ as flashy as the Wolf’s wheels, but still bright enough to get a little attention. Like a signature, you know? Just so everyone’s clear about who owns this beauty.  
  
Man, you’d never recognize this beautiful machine, the shape it was in before. Didn’t I tell you I’d turn this rusted old clunker into a real prize? Didn’t I tell you? I was right, wasn’t I? Terror on two wheels, a menace of a motorcycle, that’s what she is. Ah man, it even sounds better when I rev this thing up. She growls so loud, buddy, it could tear down the walls two towns over.  
  
Even those creepy shadows can’t bring this bike down. As a mater of fact, if anything, they sorta make it look cooler. Darker. More threatening, like they’re gonna reach out and cream any chump dumb enough to go up against it.  
  
You ain’t gonna find a better bike in all of Amity — no, in the country — no, in the world!  
  
The only thing she needs now is a name. Something that fits it, but also fits me, the rider. What that name is, I don’t really know, but hey, it’ll come to me soon enough.  
Right now, this thing’s just _begging_ to burn rubber.  
  
  
 **December 8, 1961**  
  
  
Something I think I forgot to mention about Wolf: his mood changes on a dime. Not even a dime, a dust speck. One minute he’s talking sports with you, nice and calm, and the next he’s slamming a guitar against your skull. I know. I’ve seen it. I wonder if he even plays that thing or if he just keeps the Stratocaster around just for bustin’ heads.  
And he’s sorta paranoid. Sorta real paranoid. A paranoid guy’s a spooked guy, and a scare can make a cat take up drastic measures, no stuff they wouldn’t usually do. It makes ‘em unpredictable and Wolf’s unpredictable as it is.  
  
Like I said before, Wolf’s no genius, and I could probably outsmart him without a lotta trouble, I know I can _definitely_ outride him, but outfight him? Forget it. I ain’t chicken, but I ain’t stupid neither. That’s like a mouse fighting a lion. (Or Poindexter fighting... anybody.)  
  
Considering how shaky my luck’s been lately, I don’t really like unpredictability like Wolfgang’s got. No way, man.  
  
So, when he comes up to me in the hall, demanding to know what I think I’m doing messing around with his kid sister, I just give him my most innocent look. When he tells me he’s got sources that tell him they’ve seen his sister with me I shrug at the guy and tell him I don’t know nothing’ about nothin’. I tell him Sketch is a sketchy guy, that’s how he got his name, after all. I remind him Sketch has a rep for stretching the truth, and when was the last time he told a straight story?  
  
Then the red starts to disappear from his face as Wolf starts to think on this. Seeing that he’s startin’ to buy it, I keep goin’ on, sayin’ I’d never, ever dream of going after his sister, or Sketch either, knowing who they’re associated with. I tell him the last thing I wanna do is cross paths with the Amity Angels. I say Sketch musta walked into a door or something, the klutz he is, and just thought it was me, what with my bad luck and all. Maybe he just wanted to avoid embarrassment. Maybe Sketch just got confused, that’s how he is sometimes.  
  
It worked. Wolf eased off a bit and lumbered off to get hold of Sketch again, to check his sources.  
  
You can bet I got myself real gone before he got a chance to realize I played him.  
  
  
 **December 10, 1961**  
  
  
Kitten surprised me today.  
  
A couple of hours back, bout sundown, I’m just sittin’ around in the living room watching Ed Sullivan (we finally got the tube fixed) and I hear this rapping on the window. So, I go to check it out, and there’s Kitty with her umbrella in the drizzle staring right back at me. And I’m just confused here, and a little worried, wondering if maybe something happened or I forgot something I was supposed to remember, even though I’m pretty sure we didn’t have nothin arranged for tonight, but I can be a pretty forgetful guy, and girls, well, they remember everything.  
  
I’m not in trouble, though. When I let her in, it turns out she stopped by to hang.  
  
Can you imagine? She comes all the way across town, just to hang with a jinx. Yeah, I can’t believe it either.  
  
I tell her she didn’t have to do all that, strolling all the way up here, that it really isn’t all that safe, what with the rain and cold and all. That I don’t want to screw things up for her on my account. I tell her Sketch has been talking lately. That Wolfgang’s on to me.  
  
Kitty just tells me she’ll do what she wants, I’m wigging out for no reason about the cold, and nobody believes Sketch cuz he’s a spaz.  
  
When I ask again about Wolf, she pulls up real close, reaches out behind my neck and purrs all sweet-like in my ear, “Yeah? What about him?”  
  
 _Well._ That seemed like more than a good enough answer to me. (Really, that purring thing kills me every time. It’s unbelievable, man)  
  
So, the two of us just lie there on the couch for a while, watching the tube in the dark. I don’t how people can stand to watch in the light, to tell you the truth, it‘s much better without it. This way, it’s more like catching a flick, only this time it’s better because the room’s smaller, and the seat’s bigger. Big enough for my Kitty to curl right up next to me.  
  
Then, after a while, she looks up at me in a weird sort of way. I ask her what’s up.  
  
Kitty sits back up on the couch and she asks me if I love her.  
  
And you know what? That’s a real dangerous question.  
  
That question’s exactly how I blew my thing with Judy a few months back, answering that question, not really meaning what I said, and having it come back to bite me in the end. But, I wanna say I that I do. I really, really, want to, but I don’t really wanna lie, neither. I think she’s too good for it.  
  
So, I don’t answer right away. Instead, I just go, “Well, do you love me?” Because if she answers, then I’m clear to answer back.  
  
“I asked you first,” she says.  
  
Drat.  
  
I think on the question a little more, and then I ask her if she wants a real answer, or just a nice sounding answer.  
  
She gives me this real suspicious look, “What’re you playing at, Johnny?”  
  
“I’m not playin’ at nothin’, baby. I’m just asking an honest question here, that’s all.”  
  
So, still looking a little suspicious, she slowly answers, “Real answer.”  
  
So, I sit up, lean back on the couch and say, “I dunno. That’s the real answer. I just don’t know. How am I supposed to know, anyway? I mean, I’ve never been in love before. I…just don’t know. But I want to. I think I’d like to find out.”  
  
Kitty looks at me for a second, and I’m more than a little worried. I wonder if maybe I should have just gone ahead and given her the fake answer anyway. I think maybe I’ve gone and screwed up the good thing I got.  
  
But then she says to me, “You know? I think I’d like to find out too.”  
  
  
 **December 10, 1961**  
  
  
Yeah, yeah, I know I usually don’t make two entries a night, but something else just popped into my head.   
  
People teach you things, but as far I‘m concerned, it‘s your steadies that teach the most. Or, if ya wanna get more specific about things, your ex steadies that teach you the most.  
  
For the record, Kitty’s not my first girl by any means. But she is the first steady I’ve had in a while. Like, almost a year. Ever since the whole bad luck thing started not many want anything to do with me. Hey, their loss, huh?  
  
But even though I’ve been with a lotta chicks, I’ve only had about four real steadies: Min, Alice, Judy, and Verna. In the end, I found out Min was a mooch, Alice smothered, Judy was good at catching people in their lies, and Verna liked Wilson from shop class a lot more than she liked me.  
  
And they all taught me something or other about how a relationship works, and I guess, about how life works, I guess. And I guess they turned out to be pretty good lessons, when you get right down to it. I mean, you don’t learn unless you fumble, you know?  
  
But the problem with is, you don’t learn from just steadies. You only learn from ex steadies.  
  
And I really don’t want to learn anything from Kitty.  
  
  
 **December 13, 1961**  
  
  
They finally found Poindexter.   
  
Um.

You know how I was talking about looking all over the school for the nerd, because I was supposed to hold up my end of the bargain about the bike? And you know how I said I looked outside his locker and inside of it? 

It turns out they actually moved his locker three rows down.   
  
I was looking in the wrong one.


	4. Tryst to Deck a Phobia

_“Don't you remember,_  
 _You told me in December_  
 _That a boy is not a man until he makes a stand._  
 _Well, I'm not a genius,_  
 _But maybe you'll remember this:_  
 _I never said I ever wanted to be a man.”_

  
\- White Stripes, _The Air Near My Fingers_

 

 

* * *

 

 

**December 14, 1961**  
  
  
OK… Alright… Okay.  
  
You know what? You know what?  
  
This, this whole thing, this whole thing that’s goin’ down right now? It’s dumb. The stuff in my head right now? It’s just completely stupid and ridiculous and has nothin’ to do with anything.  
  
I mean, I wasn’t even supposed to start watchin’ his back until the nineteenth, right? Right.  
  
Here, flip the pages back a bit, and you’ll see it. it’s right there on the 25th page, in straight black and white. Clear as crystal. It couldn’t be anymore clear, man!  
Now, the last I saw him (alive) I think it was, like, two whole days before the nineteenth. Yeah. Yeah, come to think of it, it was the seventeenth of November. Yeah. I remember I saw him passin’ by in the lunchroom, while he was holding his bowl of soup. Yeah…two days ago exactly.  
  
So you know what that means? I’ll tell you what it means. It means I wasn’t supposed to be his bodyguard until way after it happened. I wasn’t supposed to be lookin’ out for the kid. Not that day. It wasn’t no responsibility of mine. Not yet. Not until the nineteenth. It happened on the seventeenth, accordin’ to the law. A whole forty-eight hours before I was supposed to have anything to do with him.  
  
I wasn’t supposed to watch him when it happened. I wasn’t.  
  
We clear on this?  
  
I…I mean, forty-eight hours is forever. I mean, I didn’t know that sorta thing was gonna happen to the guy. I mean, who did? Who could’ve? Nobody, that’s who. Nobody did. So it’s nobody’s fault. Nobody.  
  
(Well, at least, nobody except the guy who stuffed him in locker 724 in the first place)  
  
Besides him, nobody has anything, anything to do with this whole shebang. Nothing at all. Nobody, including me.  
  
Because you know what?  
  
I wasn’t supposed to watch his back until the nineteenth. Got it?  
  
What happened to him was nobody’s fault.  
  
 _Especially_ not mine.  
  
  
 **December 16, 1961**  
  
  
We skipped today, me and Kitty. I figure we both could use a break. I’m feelin’ a little edgy lately and she’s all bent outta shape more than usual, and I could tell she really needed to blow off some steam.  
  
We actually planned it out this time. Sorta.  
  
I got up way early (around five or so), drive over to Kitty’s, she slips out the back window (wish I knew about that window last time) and off we go. The plan was to go on by this nice little creek near the edge of town and watch the sun come up, cuz I saw the day before that the water froze over, and when the sun hits the ice, it looks really cool. Plus, the place has a pretty nice view. And it’s cheep.  
  
Of course, all of this stuff, as it turns out relied more on luck than I thought it did. By the time we get to the creek, it turns out the ice has all but melted, and it was so cloudy we couldn’t really see much of the sunrise, and from where we sat a billboard blocked the view.  
  
And, if all that didn’t make this just the perfect date, a few minutes after we sit, Kitten tells me that she’s leaving in about a week. Her folks are draggin’ her and Wolf to some joint in Colorado for all of Christmas break.  
  
To be honest, though, I was sorta, kinda relieved that was all she was uptight about (when she said she was leaving town, for a second I thought she meant forever), and I told her so.  
  
Big mistake.  
  
She jerks her head around and scowls at me, demanding to know what exactly I mean by that. Me, I’m a little stunned by that reaction, so I blink and say, “Um. I…what?” (Because I’m just fantastic with words that way.)  
  
“So you’re fine with me up and leaving, then? That what it is?”  
  
“I-–no, baby!”  
  
How we even got to that question, I’ve got no idea. I wonder if mood swings run in the family. I really don’t know what it is I said to get her all hissy at me, all I did was tell the truth. All I can do for a while is stutter and stammer, which really doesn’t help my case at all.  
  
By some miracle, I eventually just manage to tell her that wasn’t what I meant. “I been worried ‘bout you is all, babycakes. You hardly said anything all day, I was s cared you’d be telling’ me something’ way worse.”  
  
She cools down a bit after hearing that, but she’s still scowling. So, I scoot in close and give her a sad-sacked look going, “’Sides, I dunno what you’re so unhappy about. I’m gonna be the one all by myself at Christmastime. I’m gonna be awful cold without my sweet Kitten to keep me warm.”  
  
She passes me this sideways glance, and I smile at her all cute-like. So she scoffs and smacks me in the arm, “gosh, you’re such a dork, Johnny.” She smiles when she says it, though.  
  
It brings up a problem, though. If she’s leaving town in a week, that means I’m gonna have to find her a present double-time, and I ain’t got nothin’ for cash. Zilch. Nadda. The best I can do right now is a little toy Coupe Deville from the crackerjack box.  
  
Right then, though, I’m not thinkin’ on that at all. I really don’ wanna put not thought into anything that’s gonna happen in a week, or what’ll happen in a hour, in fact. All I’m thinkin’ about is what’s goin’ on right then, and right then there’s just me, a motorbike, a cold chill in the air, and the best girl in the world sitting by a creek.  
  
That’s just how it’s supposed to be, dig? Nothin’ to wig out about, nothin’ to care about. I’m just in the now. Besides, it don’t do me no good to fret now about the future, since the future’s gonna do whatever it wants anyway, and you can’t do nothin’ to change the past either. All you got control over is the present. And right then, the present’s suiting me just fine.  
  
Suits me so much, I almost drift off in the grass an’ snow.  
  
That is, until I feel Kitty elbow me in the side. I’m fixing to just roll over and ignore it, but then I hear her whisper my name in my ear. And there’s this tone in here voice I never heard before, kinda serious. Kinda scared.  
  
So, I sit up, look around, and I’m confused. I don’t see nothin’ at all, except the sky looks a bit darker above us, but that’s just the clouds. In the distance, I can almost hear the sound of a motor headin’ out way, but it’s not close enough to do no harm anytime soon.  
  
So I look back at Kitty, “What?”  
  
She scoots in closer and grabs onto me, and I swear she almost cuts off the blood flow in my arm.  
  
“What?!” I ask again, more worried this time. I’ve never seen here this spooked before.  
  
She doesn’t say anything, but just points straight above us, where the bare tree branches are hangin’ above our heads. “Johnny. Look.”  
  
I look. And then I blink for a second, because I know she can’t be talkin’ about what I think she’s talkin’ about.  
  
When I don’t answer her, her voice gets higher and more nervous, “Don’t you see that? Johnny. Lookit the shadows. It’s like…it’s like…”  
  
“They’re movin’?” I’m getting’ real uneasy myself, and pull her in closer, for both our sakes.  
  
“Yeah…”  
  
“In the tree?”  
  
“Yeah.”  
  
“Uh. So… just so we’re on the same page, baby, you also see a shadow moving in the tree.”  
  
She nods.  
  
“…oh boy.”  
  
I don’t know what worries me more. The fact that Kitty can see ‘em too, or the fact that I’d gotten so used to the things, I didn’t even notice.  
  
But even though I’m a little freaked, I’m not about to let some creepy shadow scare my girl like that. When they were just followin’ me around and being creepy, that was different, it was just me then. But buddy, when they start creepin’ out Kitty that just crosses the line.  
  
So I stand up, shake my fist up at the tree and go, “Hey! HEY! You buzz off, you hear me? Scat before I wipe the floor with you! Beat it!” What on earth I thought I’d do by that, I have no idea.  
  
The shadows stop moving for a second, and I almost thought they might actually try and do somethin’ to me. “Hey,” I tell ‘em again, tryin’ to sound tougher than I feel,  
  
“Back off, man.”  
  
And then they do.  
  
Why? Dunno. Don’t care. But if I knew getting’ rid of ‘em was that easy, shoot I’d have done it a long time ago.  
  
  
 **December 17, 1961**  
  
  
Oh man, I’m NOT in the mood for this stuff. At all.  
  
I wish the universe would just knock it off, you know? All I wanna do is move on with my life, fix up my bike, sweet talk with my girl, and pretend the rest of the world doesn’t exist. That’s all. It’s not too much to ask, is it? Isn’t it bad enough that the kid died? Do we really need to get reminders? Do we?  
  
I mean, a wake’s never really a picnic, but this one was… worse. By a lot. And I’m not even talkin’ the suit I had to wear (I’ll never wear another one as long as I live. Count on that). Actually, I probably wouldn’t have shown up at all if I didn’t have to. I mean, sure, I’m sorry he bit the dust, but that doesn’t mean I wanna sit though all this to-do.  
  
Remember Mister Specter? Dumb suit, dumber tie, creepy smile, and really irritating? Well, the week after news of what happened got out, he started hanging around again. He says he’s here to do “damage control”, to make sure us students ain’t shell-shocked or nothing‘. Says he’s here to “help us through these troubled times”, and that’s… it’s just… he just _keeps saying_ that, and it’s driving me bonkers.  
  
Oh, times are troubled? Really, Mr. Specter? _REALLY_?! Gosh, I didn’t notice. I must be livin’ under a rock at the bottom of the sea. I must be deaf or something’. Here I was sittin’ thinking’ everything was just hunky dory, peachy keen and swell here at Casper High, the all-American school. (Pfft. The All American School. Yeah, that’s what we are. )  
  
And the worst part? These chumps are actually buying it! They really think we need him here to help us deal with something that’s got nothing to do with him. Like we need him here to tell us how to feel.  
  
You know what Specter’s really here for? He’s here to make a buck. That’s all he’s here for. That’s the _only_   thing he’s here for and if they’re all too stupid to see that, then maybe they deserve all the bad luck that’s comin’ down on ‘em. I mean… how can you not see that stupid, fake sympathetic smile of his just painted on? I don’t care how cheerful a guy you are or how much you wanna put on a touch face, you don’t smile at a wake. You just don’t do it.  
  
But I guess that’s just his job. Or maybe I’m just out of touch. I dunno.  
  
Worse than that, everyone’s suddenly Poindexter’s very best friend in the whole stinking world. A “real bang up guy”, they’re callin’ him, “the best guy I’ve known”, a “super genius”, and this is just stuff from the football team.  
  
You know the football team, doncha? The guys who tied up to the flagpole last semester? The guys who gave him three swirleys a week and made him do their homework?  Well, it turns out they were the best of friends all along.  
  
What, you didn’t know that? Why heck, I thought everyone knew that. Don’t you remember the time they all went out for a round of egg creams by the soda shop? You don’t? Isn’t that just the _darnedest_ thing?  
  
I’ll bet my bottom dollar none of ‘em even knew what his first name was before they saw it on a headstone. In fact, I don’t think a third of the school even knew his last name.  
  
And it just went on like that for almost two hours. Speaker after speaker, reminiscin’ with nothin’ but good to say about the guy they’d shoved down the stairs and shoved in lockers.  
  
Since it looked like nobody in the whole place was gonna tell anything even close to the truth, I decided to say something. I had to.  
  
So, when it came time for us students to speak their peace, I spoke mine, boy did I ever. I told ‘em how I knew nothin’ about Poindexter, I never did, and now never would. I didn’t care about him neither, and for a matter of fact, neither did anyone in that room unless they were shakin’ him down for quarters. I told ’em how nobody liked Poindexter at all. Nobody at all. Or, if they did, they sure had a weird way of showin’ it.  
  
I told ’em, “There ain’t really no point in blubbering over the whole thing, since we never looked twice at him while he was alive, why should that change now? It’s not like you can suddenly undo the past because it don’t suit you no more. But hey, we all wanna feel swell, don‘t we? Actin’ like you were all tight with him makes you feel less bad, but in the end, it’s all just an act, isn’t it?”  
  
Then I told ‘em they were all liars. I told ‘em they were all frauds. I told the truth. I set the record straight, man. I took a stand, told ‘em what’s what.  
  
Yeah.  
  
That’s exactly what I did.  
  
In my head, anyway.  
  
…I oughta head home and paint my jacket yellow.  
  
I didn’t say a thing. Not a word. All I could do was just sit there in my metal chair, watching the show by the coffin.  
  
I think I would’ve killed something sitting there if not for Kitten sittin’ right in front of me. Maybe because she didn’t care all that much one way or another, or just because she was tuckered out, she just had this really… blank look on her face. Kinda bored and twitchy. But then again, she always sort of looks that way… that, or peeved. I think she might have been tryin’ to ignore the whole thing like I was, or maybe she really didn’t care. Either way, I was sort of glad she was sittin’ in front of me.  
  
Sure, she didn’t stand up there and set all those lying punks straight, but she didn’t get up there and pretend either. I sort of wish she’d said something to me, though. (I know we’re supposed to be layin’ low and all, but I really didn’t care about that right then).  
  
What I would’ve wanted her to say to me, I really don’t know. Something. Anything, really. I just like the sound of her voice in my ear, all nice and clear and pure and good. Instead, I just settled staring at the rows of black hair in back of her head.  
  
(…Wow, that sound really corny, doesn’t it? Geez, I’m getting pathetic. I need to take a ride or somethin’ after I’m done writin‘ this bit)  
  
Anyhow, I really shouldn’t complain. I only had to sit through it for two hours, and it was supposed to be three. Sometime after the football team captain talked and Mabel, from the Casper Spirit committee read some poem, the lights went out. (I think that made it the fifth time that month). So they wrapped up early and I wasted no time heading out, believe me. The further I got from that scene, the better.  
  
But then, as I’m revving the engine, outta the corner of my eye, I see Sketch walkin’ by a little group of gossips, casual as can be. And then he says, in a voice that’s louder than it should’ve been, “Say, have a look at that motorbike, there. Huh. Didn’t the Poindexter kid used to have a bike a bit like that?”  
  
And almost on cue, the gossips just stop in their tracks and slowly, they all look at me. Don’t say anything, not even to each other. They just…stare at me. Not in a nasty way either, like they’ve been in the last few weeks. It’s more like... lie they’re scared of me. And I sort of wished they'd just go back to lookin' at me nasty.  
  
Really. I am NOT in the mood for this junk right now.  
  
  
 **December 18, 1961**  
  
  
Okay, okay, time to ease off the bad news for once. Geez, it’s been gloomville around here lately, hasn’t it?  
  
And it’s not really gettin’ any better. Stuff is still fallin’ apart for no real reason (latest disaster: tower of boxes fell on the janitor, almost broke his head) and now half the school is givin’ me wigged looks, thinking’ I had somethin’ to do with the nerd in his locker.  
  
I’m gonna kill Sketch when I track him down. What‘d I ever do to him anyway to make him say that? …I mean, besides knocking out his face two weeks ago. But that’s no reason for him to do all that. It ain’t Wolf’s doin’ neither, I know that for sure. He’s the sort that’ll smash your head open, or bite off your head, but he doesn’t go for that sorta thing at all. It’s weird.  
  
Whatever. Getting off track again.  
  
So, there I was layin’ back in detention (What for? Don’t remember.) doin’ a fat load of nothin’. Just countin’ the ceiling tiles (there’s 527 of them, by the way) pretty much bored out of my skull. Ain’t that somethin’? All this craziness happenin’ round here, and I still find time to be bored. I’m pretty much stuck in there too, cuz the wet rag sittin’ up there at the desk ain’t goin’ nowhere fast, and chances of sneakin;’ out to find a better time is slim to none.  
  
And his cat, Hayes, he’s a real tightwad, man. Won’t even let you sleep on the desk or whistle or nothing. (What is this, prison?)  
  
So, I’m lookin’ around for somethin’ to amuse me, and I come cross this old encyclopedia stuffed in the bookcase next to me. Since I really got nothin’ better to do, I start checkin’ it out for kicks, figuring maybe I’d find a couple of pictures worth a laugh or two.  
  
But as soon as I start thumbin’ though, Hayes gives me a scowl and is all, “What’re you doin’?”  
  
So I just go, “Nothin. What’s it look like?”  
  
“It looks like you’re going to deface that book.”  
  
I give him this fake confused look, “Oh, now how am I gonna do that, sir? This dusty ol’ thing ain’t got a face.”  
  
“You are not funny.”  
  
I smile at him, “My girlie thinks I’m plenty funny.”  
  
He ignores that and goes on to warn me that I’d better not be writin’ in the book. Like I’m six or something.  
  
Now, I’m really not in the mood to getting into it with this guy, I’m really not in the mood. So I just let it go and tell him I ain’t gonna draw in no book, so he can just ease off. He didn’t buy it, really, but he stopped yappin’.  
  
So I start lookin’ though the book, right? I’m thinkin’ maybe it’s got something on motorbike I can use (it didn’t, by the way).  
  
In the end, I get on this page, about these things called phobias. You know, something that’ll get you in a real bad way, really scared., unbelievable scared. And man, is there ever a lot of ‘em. Cats, dogs, birds, snakes, hospitals, germs, heights, love, water, the dark, church, goin’ out the house, bugs, almost everything under the sun! There was even a phobia of string. Now, stuff like snakes and heights, and maybe even love I can understand. But scared of string? Weird.  
  
Anyway, I’m going through the list, and towards the bottom there’s a really long one. If it weren’t for the pronunciation thing on the side I’d never know how to say it.  
Triskaidekaphobia, it was called. Fear of the number thirteen.  
  
I tried sayin’ out loud a few times: Triskaidekaphobia. Triskaidekaphobia. Tryst-to deck-a-phobia.  
  
I liked it. I liked it a lot. If you went and separated all the parts of the word, it’s almost like a sentence, ain’t it? Tryst to deck a phobia.  
  
I think on that for a second. I look up and go, “Hey, Hayes.”  
  
The tightwad don’t answer, so I say louder, “Hey, Hayes! You, at the desk!”  
  
He glares up from his paper like he wants to ring my neck, “What?”  
  
“Hey man,” I say, “Is tryst a word?”  
  
“What sort of a stupid question is that? What’re you trying to pull, kid?”  
  
“I ain’t pullin’ nothin, I just wanna know. It’s a free county ain’t it? A guy can still learn stuff he wants to know.”  
  
“Why?”  
  
“’Cause.”  
  
He makes a big production of rolling his eyes and huffs, “Yes. It’s a word.”  
  
“What’s it mean, then?”  
  
Even more annoyed, he goes, “A meeting. Sometimes a secret meeting between lovers. There. You happy, kid?”  
  
“I guess”, and now I’m just grinning like a loony.  
  
Now, just how boss is that? Don’t it just fit like a glove? A tryst. Kinda like what me an’ Kitten got. And the way everyone’s sorta scared of me after the wake and all the bad luck, it’s like a phobia.  
  
I just can’t stop sayin’ that word now.  
  
Triskaidekaphobia  
  
Tryst-to-deck-a-phobia.  
  
Yeah. I dig it. I dig it a lot.  
  
And you know what? I think my bike might finally have a name.  
  
  
 **December 18, 1961**  
  
  
I... think the impossible just happened.  
  
A couple of hours ago, I’m up on the roof stringin’ up the Christmas lights (why we wait until this late in December, I don’t know. They’re just commin’ down in ten days anyway).  
  
So, I’m up here in the snow, ignorin’ the naggin’ feeling in the back of my head about the nerd thing (that wasn‘t my fault), and I finally finish, after about an hour of untangling the chords and tryin’ not to get myself shocked. Then I climb down to see the lights come on, because that’s what our dumb excuse for a family does, we watch the crummy lights come on our crummy house. It’s sorta tradition. Or something.  
  
But then, when Pops hit’s the switch, the light do come on, all in flickery green and red and yellow and blue, they sparkle for a second and – fffttt! Fizzle out. So, I go to the side of the house to check it out, and then I find the wire’s been chewed straight through, probably by some dumb squirrel or something.  
  
I go back and give the news, and lookin’ back, I almost wish I hadn’t, because I think it brought him down. I mean more than he usually is.  
  
…I should probably explain, here.  


Remember when I said the lights thing was sorta tradition? Well, the thing about that is it’s our only tradition. As far as I hear, most folks have a bunch of old traditions and stuff, especially when the holidays run around.  


I mean, yeah, we got a tree (half-dead) and presents and junk like that, but everyone does that sort of thing.  


I’m talkin’ stuff like goin’ cross-country to visit the relatives, or having some big dinner, or caroling, or skiing, or something like that. Big productions the whole family does together. Even Kitty’s folks, who usually aren’t even there does stuff. She’s gonna go to Michigan in about a week to see her uncles and stuff. I know, she’s been complaining about it for the past few days. They’re probably gonna drag her there kicking and screeching, but hey, it still counts.  
  
So anyway, while most families have about a million little traditions, we only have one: standing out in the stupid snow watching the stupid lights come on. Really, the lights ain’t all that great, to tell the truth.  


I mean, half the bulbs are duds, and the ones that still work are still pretty dim. It’s nothing’ like the bright cheerful flickery lights they’re supposed to be. Reject lights is what they are.  


But the thing is, those shoddy lights are the same ones we’ve been using for longer than I’d like to remember. They’re reject lights, but they’re our reject lights. Even though they’re really stupid and shoddy and shot to pieces, I still like watchin’ ‘em come on.  


…Not much, though. A little bit. (Tell anyone and I’ll smash your face in.)  
  
So, I guess I’m a little disappointed about the lights too, I guess. Not that much, but a little. But Pops, he’s real disappointed about it. I can tell.  
  
It’s not like the lights haven’t flickered out before tonight, I mean, they do this every year, but that usually happens later on, after Christmas, but they’ve always stayed on at least until then. Plus, whenever the bulbs flickered out before, that was just cuz of some shoddy bulb, and that can always be fixed. We’re gonna have to buy a whole new set of lights for this.  


So, tryin’ to lighten the mood (pun not intended) I go, “Hey, them’s the breaks, huh? Better luck next time.”  


And my old man, he just slowly turns and looks at me and says, “There’s no such thing as luck, boy. You know what a man does, Johnny? A man makes his own luck.”  


And then I got stuck tearing down the lights again.  
  
But you know? That’s not bad. “A man makes his own luck.”  


How do you like that? Actually had somethin’ useful to say for once.  


Guess even a broken clock’s right twice a day, right?  
  
It ain’t bad advice at all. 

I think I’ll take it.


	5. Wasted Youth

_ “And I ain't in it for the power,   
And I ain't in it for my health   
I ain't in it for the glory of anything at all   
And I sure ain't in it for the wealth   
But I'm in it till it's over and I just can't stop   
If you wanna get it done,   
You gotta fight for yourself”   
  
_ \- Meat Loaf; _ Everything Louder Than Everything Else _

* * *

** December 19, 1961   
  
**   
For all you cats out there in Amity Park, here’s a suggestion: know how to duck and cover.   
  
Not because of the Reds, nah, nuclear fallout’s small beans compared to Hurricane Kitty. Buddy, when that storm rolls into town, you’d better hit the floor and hit it fast.   
What set her off? Dunno. I think it had somethin’ to do with Judy (as in my ex, Judy), since she was the one flyin’ through the halls before Kitty showed up right on her tail. I think Jude mighta tried lettin’ Kitty in on past… happenings. But that’s just a guess. I really dunno what set her off, and I really didn’t wanna stick around to find out. I dig my Kitten, but when the claws are out, so am I.   
  
Seriously, I do _not_ wanna get on his girl’s bad side. Ever. EVER.   
  
(Still looks kinda hot when she’s angry, though.)   
**   
  
December 19, 1961    
  
  
** And…I’m an idiot.    
  
It’s like this: ever since the thing at the creek with the shadows and all, Kitty’s been lookin’ kinda edgy around me, lookin’ over her shoulder and stuff. I keep tellin’ her that there’s nothing to be scared about, that the shadows can’t really hurt her, not when I’m around. “When I’m around,” I tell her, “Nothin’s gonna come in ten feet of you.” And she nods when I say it, but I know she don’t believe me.   
  
Probably because the shadows just keep comin’ back. Yeah, they cut out when I tell ‘em to, but they’re only gone for half an hour and the most, and there they are again. Hidin’ behind the radio or under a nightstand or in some dark corner of the ceiling. But usually, I’ll find ‘em swishing around under Tryst-to-deck-a-phobia.   
(Come to think of it, they’re almost _always_ under my bike. Weird.)   
  
And I don‘t like it. I really, really, don’t like it. Worse, I think they somehow _know_ I don’t like it. Like they…understand stuff. I noticed this one time, they were leavin’ before I even told ‘em to split, when I was just thinking’ about it. It’s real creepy, man. Gives me some serious chills.   
  
I mean, I can deal with normal stuff like Poindexter buyin’ the farm and people givin’ me the stink eye and Wolf. Stuff like that. Real, normal, stuff. Stuff you can see and fix. I can deal with that stuff cuz I kinda know what’s goin’ on. I know where I stand. With the shadows, though…I have no idea. I dunno why they’re here or what they do, or why they have to hang around me of all people, or if they really listen to me or if they’re just playin’ games or if they’re gonna eat me while I’m sleepin’ or…I dunno.   
  
What I do know is they ain’t gonna do nothin’ to me, and they ain’t gonna do nothin’ to Kitty either. I mean, if they wanted to take me down, they would’ve done it a long time ago (I’m beginning to think that maybe they like me) and like I said before, I’m not gonna let nothin’ to happen to Kitty, weird shadows or no weird shadows.   
And later on, when I tell her the same thing, man, I mean it. I can understand why he doesn’t believe me, I mean if I were her, I wouldn’t believe me, but still, I want her to believe me.   
  
So, I decided to try and prove it with an experiment.   
  
We skipped second period and met out by the bleachers, since we knew nobody was gonna be over there, them bein’ totaled and all. Plus, over there it was real sunny, and I know the shadows don’t really like the sun, so it’ll be easier to work with ’em and they won‘t do nothin‘ too…unpredictable. I think that’s kinda how that works. I only really see ’em in dark places, anyway.   
  
When I first told her I wanted to meet up with her, she smirked at me, when I tell her what we’re there for, she stopped smirking and gave me this sideways look. So I tell her to trust me. She just asks me if I know what I’m doin’. I tell her that I think so (which is… mostly true), then I tell her again she’s got nothin’ to be scared of. I figure if I say it enough maybe one of us will start of believe it.  
  
So, we started just waitin’ for them to show up, since I‘m not really sure how to get them to come, but they always come by eventually. And we wait for what seems like forever, until Kitten notices somethin’ movin’ under one of the trees. She tells me that I’d better know what I’m doin’.   
  
Which... I really didn’t, as it turns out. I tried getting’ them to do basic stuff, like come, stay, go here, go there, get outta that tree, stuff like that, and they don’t do nothin’. Just sit there in the tree, starin’ at me, makin’ me look dumb.   
  
Maybe it was too bright out after all, or maybe they don’t like bein’ told what to do anymore than I like bein’ told what to do. Or maybe they were just bein’ jerks. Or maybe I wasn’t callin’ ‘em right…like maybe it’s gotta be more direct. I dunno. Whatever. The point is, it was a bust. The most the shadows did was break off half the branches of the tree, and they did that part on their own.   
  
If this outfit wasn’t just a blast to start with, it just kept gettin’ even better.   
  
After a while I just gave up on the shadow thing, and me and Kitten take a walk around the schoolyard, partly so I try again at convincing’ her that the shadows aren’t really dangerous (even though I can’t really control ’em). Just as soon as we pass into the courtyard, out to the side, around the corner strolls the Wolf, holdin’ a crowbar probably on his way to bust up a mailbox or whatever, with the spaz right on his tail like usual.   
  
Now, this probably wouldn’t have been much of a problem, them beiin’ on the other side of the yard and all. We probably coulda gone on by without a hitch if it wasn’t for the ice.   
  
We’re almost home free when Wolf almost slips on this big ol patch of ice, and when Sketch is leanin’ down to help him up, he glances in my direction, and well… you can just guess who caught his attention. He leans on by Wolf and points in my direction, and I notice he‘s got a grin on his face. Real sly and nasty-like.   
  
Something about that grin just… tore it for me.   
  
It made me realize somethin: I’ve had it. I’ve just had it with this whole scene. I’m sick of gettin’ the rap for stuff I didn’t do, I’m sick of everyone givin’ me the stink eye like I’m one of the Reds, I’m sick of Sketch and his weird little vendetta against me (shoot, I’m sick of him, period), and I was sick of layin’ low and still takin’ heat anyway.   
And I’m REALLY sick of the way I’ve just been layin’ back and just takin’ it. Enough, already. I mean, what am I, anyway? Man or mouse? And why should I go though all this trouble dodgin’ anyway? It ain’t like we got anything to be ashamed of, right?   
  
So dig:   
When I realize I got the Wolf’s eye, right before we turn the corner, I go and look at Kitty, who looks back at me a bit confused, because the look I got on my face is more serious than it usually is. She starts to ask me what’s goin’ on, but never gets that far, because right then I go in for a smooch. And not a little one either, one of those long, boss ones, the kind that knocks your socks off and puts you on cloud number nine, you feel me? The stuff that gets ya real gone.   
  
Kitty doesn’t really go against it or nothin‘, but when I’m done, she grabs on my jacket and pulls me down to ear level, and she goes, “What do you think you’re doing?”   
“I, um.. really don’t know.” I give her a dumb little half grin, “But it’s pretty nice, huh?”   
  
“It’s stupid is what it is!”   
  
I glance back where Wolf looks just about ready to pry off my skull with that crowbar of his, like he’s bout to flip. Completely razzed and more than a bit shocked, too. But I know he’s not gonna try nothin’, not here in the middle of the courtyard, with classes just gettin’ out and the stuffed shirts watchin’ him. So there was no way he was gonna do nothin’ right then.   
  
So, I just give her a peck and tell her, “Yeah. I know.”   
  
And I do.   
  
It was a real thick move. Completely stupid. Probably the stupidest thing I ever did. If I just managed to lay low for the rest of next semester, I probably coulda made it home free. I mean, I think Wolf graduates this year, so I wouldn’t have to worry about him at all no more come next September.   
  
But see, doin’ all that makes a lotta stress. I don’t like stress. I’d really rather just stand up and take what comes at me than keep walkin’ on eggshells like this, like I’m some kinda rat skulkin’ in a sewer someplace.   
  
Like I said before, I ain’t got nothin to hide and I ain’t got nothin’ to be ashamed of and it’s high time Amity Park realized that.   
  
So yeah, it’s stupid. Yeah, it’s unnecessary. Yeah, I might go six feat under by the time this whole thing is over. But to tell you the truth, right now I really don’t care.   
**   
  
December 20, 1961 **   
  
  
I tell you, people will believe anything.   
  
Word is, this morning the school decided to go completely nuts. I mean, more nuts than it’s been lately. In the hallway, after Johnson finished givin’ the Showenhower kid a shake down, everything went crazy. Lights flickerin’, water pipes bustin’, and get this, stuff started floating.   
  
You heard me. Floating. Like in midair.   
  
Stuff includin’ Johnson. They say he just flailed around in the air for a good five minutes before he dropped back down again. And all around, in the background there’s this crazy wailin’ sound.   
  
‘Course, this is all just hear-say, and lookin’ at the track record of hear say lately, it really ain’t nothin’ to rely on. In fact, I’m willin’ to bet most of that stuff didn’t even happen. Especially when you hear what some of these cats are sayin’ about the school bein’ haunted. If that don’t prove how full of it these guys are, I dunno what does. What sorta idiot still believes in ghosts anyway? (I mean, besides Showenhower, but he’s a nut, so he really don’t count.)   
  
But hey, better some imaginary ghost gets blamed than me. I ain’t complaining.   
  
  
**December 20, 1961 **  
  
  
So there I was: last day before winter break, outside by the parking lot shinin’ up my wheels, pretending I don’t see how half the campus is eyeballin’ me (I hear even the teachers think I’m a jinx now) when up comes Mason.   
  
He says “Hey”, and I just give him a shrug and focus on gettin’ the slush off my spokes.   
  
Not even lookin’ up go, “Hey, Mason, why do keep talkin’ to me anyway?”   
  
Without missin’ a beat, he goes, “What, you want me to stop?”   
  
“I don’t care what you do. It’s just weird. I mean, you do know I’m a jinx, yeah?”   
  
“Yeah. And?”   
  
“And I wanna know what that’s all about. You some kinda kook or somethin’?”   
  
And the beat just puts his hand in his pockets and shrugs, “You’ve made things interesting around these parts, with the bad luck and all. It was complete dullsville before this bad luck gig started, and it’s interesting to see how this all goes down. Besides, you don’t talk much, and I dig that. My guys at the coffee house, they never shut up. But it‘s mostly because you rattle cages. People get interesting when their cages get rattled.”   
  
I look at Mason like he’s lost it. “You’ve lost it,” I tell him.   
  
He just shrugs again. “You oughta play it a little cooler, by the way. Cats around here, they don’t wanna see you strollin’ the scene”.”   
  
“So?”   
  
“Man, they’re sayin’ you offed Syd.”   
  
“Who?”   
  
“Nerd”   
  
“Oh. Yeah, what else is new?”   
  
“Well, did you?”   
  
“Why?”   
  
“I like to be in the know.”   
  
“Well, I didn’t. Did you?”   
  
“Not that I know of. Anyway, the school’s out for your head. I’d watch it if I were you, Johnny. Somebody don’t want you around. More than everybody else, I mean.”   
  
“Yeah, I know. What, you think I’m dumb or somethin’?”   
  
“Hey man, I’m just checkin’. I mean, it’s hard to tell with Sketch, the kid plays it real close to the vest, you dig?”   
  
“Yeah. Wait. What?” I blink at him. “You mean Wolf, right?”   
  
“Well, yeah, I guess you’d better watch for the Wolf too, I guess. But word is Sketch has it in for you.”   
  
“Why? What’d I do to him?”   
  
“Like you don’t know.”  
  
I tell Mason I don’t. When he just looks at me like I‘m pulling his leg, I tell him again that I don’t. I really don’t.   
  
“You got his girl.”   
  
“You really _have_ lost your mind. Lay off the coffee Mason, it’s makin’ you crazy.”   
  
“My mind’s right where it’s always been. You just haven’t been payin’ attention. See, me, I watch cats. I watch ‘em close, and Sketch, he’s got a thing for Kitty since she first pulled into town.”   
  
“That’s stupid. What about Wolf?”   
  
“Obviously hasn’t noticed. Besides, why do you think he bothers hangin’ around Wolf in the first place? It ain’t for the company, I can tell you that much.”   
  
I tell him he’s crazy again.   
  
Mason just shrugs again. “I’m just sayin’.”   
  
That cat’s something else, I tell ya. I mean, I knew the beats were crazy, but not that crazy. Kook really needs to lay off that coffee.   
  
But you know… as I’m sittin’ here in study hall, I can’t help but think about how Sketch went outta his way to point me out at the wake.   
  
And that look he was givin’ me when he called me out about Kitty, it was pretty nasty when I think on it, even though his tone and his slouch looked pretty calm. But that look we has givin’ me was way cold. And when I asked him what he wanted, he looked at the bike, but when I think about it, he really wasn’t. It was more like he was just lookin’ away from me. Avoidin’ my eye.   
  
…And wasn’t it him who was telling’ that one guy to lay off the Wolf’s sister a while back?   
It’s gotta be coincidence, though. I’m putting together pieces that ain’t there. I mean, Sketch the spaz is well…Sketch the spaz. It’s completely outta left field, it doesn’t make any sense. It’s crazy. Completely crazy.   
  
But then again, it ain’t like crazy stuff hasn’t happened before.  
  
  
 **December 21, 1961**   
  
  
People think I swipe stuff all the time but really I don’t. I don’t really blame ‘em for thinkin’ I do, cuz I’d probably think the same thing if I were them. And I probably would swipe stuff a lot more often, if I could.   
  
But the thing is, to steal stuff, you gotta move smooth and quiet and sneaky slow. All the stuff I’m not. Even without all the bad luck. I’m just a really bad thief. Besides, there’s really nothin’ out there worth the effort, really. So I usually don’t do it, unless I gotta. And tonight I gotta.   
  
I mean, if I could, I’d have just bought the ring myself and saved a lotta trouble, but to do that you need, ya know, bread. Which I don’t got. And besides, I figured I could pull of the job pretty easy, since I mean, it’s not Fort Knox or nothing.   
  
I decided to try again an’ use my bad luck as an advantage, only this time I think I know how they work. Sort of. I can’t really control them, but I do know they show up where I’m at, and they make bad stuff happen. So, I figured all I had to do was poke around for a while, make like I’m window shoppin’ and wait for something to happen. A distraction, dig?   
  
Now, I was expecting the lights to bust (more than anything, I think lights break most often), and I wasn’t surprised the neon sign crashed into the register, or when the sprinkler system went off, or when the glass counter I was leaning on broke (though that part might have just been me), but when the Ford backed in though the front door… that was a new one.   
  
Like I thought, between all the craziness and shoutin’ and panic all over the place nobody really had time to notice some kid swipe a couple of rings (only meant to get one, but hey, I’m not complaining) and slip out the back. I think it’s actually the first thing that went like I planned it in… actually, I think that might be the first time anything went like I planned it.   
  
Maybe my luck’s changing for the better. After all, I did get in and outta there without a hitch. I think.   
  
On my way on back, I kept seein’ a headlight in my rear-view every once in a while, and hearin’ the sound of this really crummy motor about a few yards behind me. Not a one time thing either, it happened, like five times on my way back…like it was following me.   
  
It might have been a coincidence. I mean, I was pretty on edge right then, you know. Might have just been imagining it.   
  
Anyway, the ring’s a nice one. Well, one of ‘em is. The other one’s kinda dull, as far as the stone goes, an’ the ring itself is kinda bulky, so that one’ll probably end up gettin’ pawned off or somethin’. Or I might go ahead an’ keep it. I dunno.   
  
Anyway, the other one’s a lot better off. Don’t really know what the rock’s called, but it’s nice and smooth and green. It looks fancy, but not too fancy. Classy, it what it is, without bein’ too uppity lookin’. Real boss.   
  
I think she’ll dig it.   
  
  
**December 22, 1961 **  
  
  
Ow.   
  
Really. **OW** _ **.**_ My head’s just splitting open right now. Well, not really, but pretty close to it. Lookin’ at that Stratocaster, you wouldn’t think it’d do that much damage. Shows what I know.   
  
I wish I had a better story here to tell. Somethin’ wild and crazy an’ brave, some dramatic thing with me facin’ off against a biker twice my size for my girl with a wise-guy grin on my face, an’ my hair lookin’ smooth, like some sorta James Dean character from out of the movies. That story would be somethin’ to be proud of.   
This story, I don’t even remember most of. Most of what happened I’m not that clear on, since I was either out or still kinda dazed.   
  
Let’s see… about six hours ago, I pull into Kitty’s, hide my bike in the bushes, sneak up to the back door (where she was supposed to be waitin’ for me). So then I’m just standin’ there in the snow and cold with my hands in my pockets, humming a few bars of “Runaround Sue”, feelin’ the ring I’m gonna give her, and wondering what I’m gonna do about her leavin’.   
  
Then, _**WHAM!**_  
  
There’s a blur, a crazy loud sound (the scream of the guitar when it banged me, I know now), then pain (lots), and then it just fades to black.   
  
Oh, and at some point, I think I ralphed on the snow. Stylish.   
  
I wake up who-know-how-many hours later, someplace past ten, but before midnight, lying on a hardwood floor, and wishing I didn’t open my eyes. I remember the first thing in my head is “cut the lights”. I mean, if I was even thinking in words right then. I think around that time everything was just….ow. Pain, hurt, agony, more pain, hurt, pain, agony and hurt. Did I mention pain? I’m amazed my brains didn’t spill out on the snow. Sure felt like it.   
  
And then I notice this really high pitched voice in the background, and I try opening and eye (just one this time and open just a crack so I didn’t end up blinding myself), and then there’s Kitty, right above my head, lookin’ madder than I ever seen her (and with Kitty, that’s sayin’ somethin’).   
  
Remember when I mentioned her stormin’ down the hall a few days ago? That was nothin’. Forget Hurricane Kitty, this girl was a typhoon. (That’s what they’re called, ain’t they? Typhoons?).   
  
Then I follow her eye and see Wolf standin’ a few feet away gettin’ chewed out, tryin’ to get a word in (and failing), and from the look on his face, he’d been getting’ chewed out for a while now. Both of them looked pretty frazzled, but really, I think I would be too if there was a jinx lyin’ in the middle of my floor in the middle of the night.   
In any case, I’m plenty glad I wasn’t in Wolf’s boots. That’s the first thing I realize. The second is while I’m laying on the floor, my head’s in Kitty’s lap. While she chews out her brother.   
  
Awesome.   
  
I almost grinned at that, but when I try, there’s an even nastier pain in my skull, and I groan and decide that I’d better not try that anymore. Groaning catches my girl’s attention and now she leans down and holds my poor aching head in her hands and croons in my ear.   
  
First thing, she wants to know if I’m okay. Looking back, I wish I’d said somethin’ like “Hey, I’m always okay when you’re around, baby”. But right then, all I did was stare up at her and go, “Uh-huh. I think.”   
  
The I sit up to prove it, which actually sort of hurt more than I let on, and I’m expecting a hug, but you know what she gives me? A sock in the arm. She socks me in the arm, man! …Not like it hurt or anything. It wasn’t too hard… but hard enough.   
  
So I’m all, “What was that for?”   
  
So then she cries. And I feel like a jerk.   
  
Then she tells me what a moron I am, how stupid I am, how cocky I am, how she knew this would end up happening, wanting to know why I wasn’t paying attention and why I’m not more careful, asks if I knew how freaked out I made her, and wants to know if I knew what she‘d do if I ended up dying. The last one’s a question I still don’t really understand, because how am I supposed to know that?   
  
I just lie there and let her go on like that until she just sort of trails off and sniffles.   
  
Then I tell her that I’m sorry, because it’s really the only thing I can think of to say.   
  
She looks down at me, sniffs, and kisses my achin’ head and more quietly goes, “You’re such an idiot.”   
  
“I know.”   
  
It’s then I cast an eyeball over towards Wolfgang, still lookin’ pretty worn out, leaning against the wall, starin’ at me and Kitty like he can’t decide to be worried or angry or what. He goes for both.   
  
He glares at me and goes, “I still don’t like it. And he’s not supposed to be in here.”   
  
Kitty runs her nails through my hair, “I really don’t care what you think.”   
  
“Even if he didn’t do anything, an’ I’m still not buyin’ that story, by the way, that still doesn’t mean he’s not trouble and it still don’t mean he’s not a jinx and that don’t mean he’s trustable. And I don‘t like him.”   
  
“And I still really don’t care. You know what, Wolf? You worry too much. I can take care of myself, jeez.”  
  
Wolf isn’t convinced. He looks like he’d love to grab me by the neck and snap it, and if it wasn’t for his sister draped all over me, I wouldn’t have put it past him to do it, either. But the way he’s hunched by the wall with his hands in his pockets I know he’s not really gonna do nothin’. At least, not anytime soon.   
  
Whatever Kitty said to him while I was out, she laid it down hard. He looked sort of hurt, to tell you the truth. Betrayed, even. I almost felt sorry for the guy. I mean, I guess I can understand him wantin’ to look out for my Kitten, I mean, who wouldn’t? Still, I only almost feel sorry for him. He did try to bash in my head with a Stratocaster, after all.   
Meanwhile, my girl goes back to runnin’ her pretty nails though my grody hair and cooin’ sweet talk at me.   
  
I glance over to where Wolf’s watchin’ and bristlin’ over, pretending he isn’t cheesed off. I couldn’t help it; I grinned.   
  
Yeah, I’m a bad winner. So sue me.   
  
  
**December 23, 1961 **  
  
  
Apparently NOTHING’s easy anymore. All I wanted was to take a ride in Amity, give a ring to my girl, and go home to mope for two weeks while she’s away. That’s all! Is that too much to ask?   
  
You also remember the thing I said about a headlight on my tail a few nights back when I was fetchin’ the ring? Well, I saw it again this mornin‘ (as in before dawn), with that piece of junk motor coughin’ and sputtetin’. This time, though, there’s a moon out so I actually caught a glance at Sketch’s red, messed up hair just before he veers back and around in traffic, so I can’t see him as good. But I know it’s him, but what’s more important, _he_ knows I know it’s him.   
  
Now, as far as I know, Sketch ain’t’ got a reason to be eggin’ me on like this, and I’m thinkin’ that by now word must have gotten out about my getting’ smacked by a Stratocaster, and because I seriously doubt the Wolf’s sendin’ out hits, Mason’s crazy theory is startin’ to sound less and less crazy. I mean, if you’ve got a better explanation for him buggin’ me like this, I’d sure like to hear it.   
  
Anyway, when I get towards Apparition Avenue, I stop at the light, look up at the sky and go, “Gosh, it’s cold out here. I’m sure glad I can go home and have a nice, sweet kitty in my lap. Boy, that would be nice.“ I glance back where I know Sketch is and go, in the most innocent voice I got, “Wouldn’t that be nice?”   
I hear his motor rev a couple of times, and in the crummy light from the streetlamps, I can see his head sort of crouch down toward the handlebars, the way he does when he’s real annoyed.   
  
That just makes my grin get bigger and I rev back. “You oughta fix that motor, spaz! It‘s slowin‘ you down, buddy.” Then I laugh floor it, tearin’ down the cold tar with the spaz’s motor sputterin’ behind me, tryin’ to catch up. Let him try. I mean, didn’t he hear? I’m the fastest thing on two wheels.   
  
But his shoddy hunk of metal holds up better than I thought. Even when I’m goin’ at top speed, I can still see his light in the mirror, just about. And then, as I’m goin’ into downtown, I don’t see him at all. I don’t mean I pulled away from him, I mean it was like he just vanished. So then I’m guessin’ that maybe I lost him somewhere between north Apparition and Parkway and Main Street, cuz I just can’t catch sight of him, even when I slow a bit. And as I’m crusin’ into Main street traffic, I ain’t really sure if that’s a good thing or not, cuz with Sketch, you just never know, y’know?   
  
But then, as I’m lookin’ back, he pulls out in _front_ of me out from behind some alley (how he got in there I got no idea) and I only just miss smashin’ into him. It makes me sorta slide further into traffic and then he pulls in closer to me and it’s then I notice he’s got a chain on him, and a nasty lookin’ one, too. He whips out the thing an’ I swear, I just missed getting’ smacked in the face with it an’ gettin’ tossed off.   
  
When I see him goin’ after me again, I notice how close the traffic an’ stuff is, how tight the space is, how easy it would be for that chain to really mess a cat up, to get that chain all tangled in the spokes. And crashin’ up in the middle of Main Street traffic the night before Christmas Eve, when everybody’s all crowded in the streets, on an icy road… I don’t think I gotta tell you, that’s a real bad scene.   
  
If I didn’t know better, I’d say he planned it from the start, the little nosebleed. He knows I can outride him easy, and he knows I can out maneuver him too, but only if I got the space, 'cause Tryst-To-Deck-A-Phobia‘s a pretty big bike. Sketch’s crummy bike might be a hunk of junk, but the little thing is just perfect for a little space like this. He can move just about anywhere he really wants to, and I’m stuck like chuck. And besides all that, even I wasn’t in a tight little spot like this, he still got a weapon, and all I got are a couple of wrenches in my jacket pocket, an’ they’re too little to do no real harm, an’ even if they weren’t I couldn’t do nothin with ‘em anyway. Not without stopping, which would mean gettin’ clocked.   
  
I know I gotta get outta that traffic, though. It’s a deathtrap. So I look until I find a little break in the cars and before the spaz can close it off, I move into the gap and go, go _go_.   
  
Now, at that point I really didn’t have no plan (when do I ever?), just to get outta the worst of Main Street traffic. I move from the opening to the curb, to the sidewalk, to the street again, where there‘s still plenty of cars, but it ain‘t so tight no more and I can relax a little. But the spaz is still on my tail. We keep on that way, dodgin’ in an’ out of traffic. Me on his tail, him on mine, motor’s revin’ little challenges to each other, and the sound of that chain whistling in the air as Sketch keeps flickin’ it out at me an’ missin‘.   
  
I think if maybe it wasn’t so late an’ I wasn’t so steamed at the spaz, an’ if my head wasn’t killin’ me, I might have actually enjoyed it. A long, noisy nasty chase through town, a couple of motors in the snow, some unreal battle of speed and ferociousness.   
  
But I wasn’t thinking’ about that right then. All I really wanted to do was get to Kitty’s place before she left, and I really didn’t want this guy anywhere near her. Ever.   
I decide to make a run to the eastside, outta the city, towards the creek where Kitty saw the shadows about a week back, since I know the place inside an’ out, an’ I figured I had sorta an advantage. Plus, I know out there it’s tough to navigate if you don’t know the place, and not many guys do, cuz nobody ever goes down there much, ‘cept for me.   
  
So when Sketch is about three feet from creamin’ into my fender, I make for this slope and make a sharp right toward the creek. An’ if I thought Main Street was kinda icy, that was nothin’ compared to this. Just white everywhere, man. Nothin’ but snow an’ ice an’ more snow, an’ I can’t really tell what’s what no more. There was this nasty patch of ice I ended up skiddin’ on, an’ that made me get smacked with the chain, an’ when I real back from it, Sketch moves in to do more damage an’ then…   
  
Well…I’m not really sure. There’s this… I dunno, this inky black _thing_ gets in my way an’ suddenly it’s sort of…all around and everywhere. It’s just _dark_. Of course, I can’t see a thing, and end up spillin’ into the snow, an‘ the snow, I think broke my fall.. Lucky it was snowin’ so much in there after all, or I’d be in real bad shape about now.   
  
And in that crazy dark, I hear the sound I can hear this long, loud, grinding, horrible sound, an’ the loudest crash I ever heard in my life. Like metal gettin’ all twisted.   
  
An’ when the blackness is gone an’ I can finally see again, it’s like the place has just gone an’ turned inside out. The snow’s all lit up by flames, and for a second I think my bike’s been creamed, but when I look behind me she’s just lyin’ in the snow, pretty as a picture. Not a scratch on her. Then I look around s’more and I realize the fire’s commin’ from a bike, it just ain’t comin’ from mine.   
  
Bout ten feet away, the tree, that big one I was lyin’ under about a week ago, it’s up and fallen right on top of Sketch’s motorbike, if you could even call it that anymore. It’s torn an’ twisted an’ smashed up so bad you can hardly tell it used to be a motorcycle. It’s busted into flames (with a bad motor like that I ain’t surprised) an’ it’s spreadin’ onto the fallen tree pretty quick.   
  
As for Sketch? Well… you don’ wanna know. Trust me. You don’t. I’ll tell you this, though. No way he was walkin’ away from that wreck.   
  
It’s then I notice somethin' movin’, an’ for a sec I think the spaz might still be alive , but then I realize it’s the same dark thing that blinded me before I took that spill. It’s all spread out writhin’ and squirmin’ all over the snow an’ all over what’s left of Sketch, but bein’ careful about the firelight. It’s the firelight that makes me recognize the shadows. They look a lot blacker than when I saw ‘em last, I hardly recognized ‘em, but what else moves like that?   
  
I just stand there for a sec, just staring like a moron, because I can’t really do anything else. I just keep lookin’ at the fire, an’ at my bike, an’ at the shadows, and at Sketch. I probably shoulda been scared outta my mind, but for some weird reason, I just felt really, really calm. Still scared, but calm.   
  
Slowly, I climb back on my bike, makin’ sure I really didn’t break nothin’. Except for my head, which was now hurtin’ even more than it did when I got smacked with the guitar, I was okay.   
  
I look back again at the shadows, swarmin’ all around what’s left of Sketch, and if I didn’t know better, I’d say they almost looked like they were dancing’, like they’re celebratin’, like they’re…proud of themselves.   
  
I wonder how I oughta react to that. I know they sorta like me, even though they don‘t listen to me. Maybe they wanted to keep me around, an’ they didn’t want anything happenin’ to me.   
  
I shuddered.   
  
Or maybe they just didn’t want anything to happen to me before they got a chance to do it themselves.   
  
Finally, I kinda look in their direction and go, in this voice that sounds more calm than I‘m feelin‘, “Hey. Shadows.”   
  
The shadows, all of ‘em at once, are all around my wheels, weavin’ in and outta the spokes, and now I’m really startin’ to get nervous. I’m almost positive now: they did it for me. Why they did it, I dunno. I guess I oughta feel grateful, but right then all I can do is keep starin’.   
  
I mean… I _did_ say I wanted Sketch gone, didn’t I?   
  
No… No, I didn’t.   
  
I felt it, I thought it, but I didn’t really say it. Could they tell anyway? Maybe they heard me muttering it somehow... (Of all the rotten times for those dumb shadows to do what I tell ‘em)   
  
So I guess…. It’s sorta my fault. And I really did want sketch gone. In fact, let’s be honest, I also sort of wanted him dead. But not literally. Not like that.   
  
I just wanted him to lay off, quit playin’ his weird games. …I guess they don’t really know about holdin’ back or anything like that. Take you at your word. And maybe they don’t always do what I tell ‘em, only do what I tell ‘em when it sounds like I mean it.   
  
But right now, like it or not, what’s done is done, and there’s no way of changin’ it. I know this, though. I’m in deep trouble.   
  
But really. All I wanted was to give my girl a ring, not kill a guy. Is that really too much to ask?   
  
  
**December 24, 1961 **  
  
  
You know what?   
My girl’s the best girl in the whole damn world. Lemmie tell ya, bar none. Absolute best. She’s an angel.   
  
See… with the accident by the creek, word’s already spreadin’ though the town like wildfire. Plus there’s the fact that folks are linkin’ me with Poindexter, so it don’t really look good for me, so I don’t think I got a real good chance of convincin’ anybody I didn’t do nothin. Not with all the weird stuff that happens around me, not with half of amity seein’ us rip around Main Street tonight, an’ word of mouth’s got a lot more power than I do, an’ I ain’t really got nobody to stick up for me neither.   
  
Oh, and did I ever mention that Sketch’s pops can pull strings? Big strings? Which just makes this situation even better.   
  
Anyway, long story short: I gotta cut out. Like soon. Like _now_. No way am I stickin’ around this scene. I ain’t that dumb. No way.   
  
But I couldn’t leave without sayin’ goodbye to Kitty and besides, I still hadn’t gotten the chance to give her the ring yet. Last few times I was gonna give it to her I got sidetracked.   
  
So, I called her up an’ asked her to meet me by the bridge near her house, because I had somethin’ important I wanted to say. To be honest, I was real relieved I got her on the line at all. I was pretty scared she’d left with her folks already.   
  
When she shows up in her little red jacket and the scarf I gave her, lookin’ at me all sad cuz she knows she’s gonna leave soon, cuz she’s gotta leave me for a while, I suddenly feel real guilty. What I planned to do was give her the ring, tell her I had to take off for a while, and that I’d be back soon. Keep it pretty vague so she doesn’t worry bout me.   
  
But that look on her face, it killed me. It killed me worse than when she had the waterworks over my getting’ smacked by the Wolf. So, I spilled.   
  
I told her about Sketch, about the crash, about the shadows, about the trouble I’m in, about how I gotta go. I tell her I really don’t wanna go, that I’d never leave her if I could help it, and that I’m really, really, really, really sorry she’s gotta go through all this, cuz she’s too boss a girl to have to out up with all of this.   
  
And she just listens to me, doesn’t say anything for a while. Then she moves in close, holds my hand and asks when I’ll be leaving.   
  
“In…an hour. I think.”   
  
“Where are you headed?”   
  
I shrug, “I think Elmerton. I think I can blend in pretty easy there.” Then I tell her not to worry about me, that I’m gonna be alright.   
  
She doesn’t really look convinced. She tells me not to tell her what to do, and that she’ll worry about me if she feels like worryin’ about me.   
  
Then, after a few second of weird silence, I decide to change the subject. “Oh, before I forget again,” I say, fishin’ in my pocket, “I gotta give you your present a day early. Since we’re both leavin’, an’ all.”   
  
I hold out the ring to her and she blinks at it. “You mean, that thing’s for me?”   
  
“It ain’t for the president.”   
  
“Really?”   
  
“Really.”   
  
She smiles then an’ tries it on, holdin’ out her pretty little hand against the streetlight to get a good look. “How’d you get it, Johnny?”   
  
I shrug. “Got lucky, I guess.”   
  
Kitty obviously doesn’t believe it’s that simple a story, but she doesn’t try an’ dig deeper into it. Instead she gives me a kiss and tells me that she loves it. Then she tells me that all the ladies in Elmerton are gonna be real jealous of the rock she’s got.   
  
“Wait, what? Baby, I can‘t be hearin‘ you right.”   
  
She climbs onto the bike, gives me this real sly, slick grin and says, “You’re hearin’ me exactly right, Johnny.”   
  
“You can’t be serious, Kitty! I can’t take you with me, I’m on the lam, not takin’ a vacation!”   
  
“So?”   
  
“You’re ‘sposed to be on vacation, and ‘sides that, it’s too dangerous for a lady an’ I really don’ know what I’m gonna do when I get to Elmerton, or even if I AM goin’ to Elmerton, an’ the weather could get bad, an’ it’s too dangerous.”   
  
She just smiles wider and leans back on the seat. “An’ I still don’t care. I’m coming. I can’t let you go by yourself, you’ll do something stupid and there won’t be nobody to drag you outta trouble. And don’t you act like you ain’t happy ‘bout this, Johnny 13. I see through you like glass.”   
  
Well, what can I say? She can.   
  
An’ while I really do think she’d be better off here, I can’t really say that I really want her to stay back here while I speed off into the sunset. In fact, I was kinda thinking’ of askin’ her to come myself, though I don’t really think I would gotten the nerve to actually do it.   
So, Kitten gets what Kitten wants.   
  
When we take off, I swear, that purrin’ just filled up the whole darn world, man.   
  
Really. The best in the world, my girl.   
  
  
**December 25, 1961 **  
  
  
So, yeah.   
  
Right after we take off we get the best luck and run smack into a snowstorm. So now, we’re here in some nowhere diner just near the edge of Amity waitin’ on the house Christmas special (it’s really just waffles with red an’ white toppings…). Right now, Kitty’s sittin’ next to me fiddlin’ with her ring an’ complaining about the old hokey music comin’ from the jukebox. I can’t really blame her.   
  
I mean, _Too Young_? Who still listens to that anymore? It’s almost ten years old by now, nobody wants to listen to that junk no more. I mean, jeez, get with the times, people!   
  
The guy about three tables from us is givin’ us dirty looks. He’s tryin’ to be all secretive about it, but I can always tell when somebody’s givin’ me the stink eye, dig? I can even hear him talkin’ to his ol’ lady bout how the youth is goin’ down the tubes an’ how the kids of America are throwin’ their life away, an’ how rock an’ roll is probably the cause of all of it. He says that it’s a real shame that kids these days don’t believe in nothin’ no more, that in his day, kids used to stand for somethin.   
  
That’s a crock if I ever heard one.   
  
I mean, yeah, Kitty an’ me, we ain’t exactly perfect or stand up citizens or nothin’, but it ain’t like we don’t believe in nothin’. I believe in what I need, I believe in what’s important. I believe in my bike, that’s it’s strong an’ fast an’ sturdy enough to take us just about anywhere, from here to Timbuktu an’ back again. I believe in that long, beautiful stretch of road out in fronta me, just beggin’ me to burn some rubber on it, to go wherever I wanna, whenever I wanna, however I wanna, just because I can. I believe in my girl, an’ I believe she’s the salt of the Earth, an’ that she ain’t never gonna let me down, not now, not ever.   
  
An’ I believe that where we are now is the best place we could ever be. Cuz when the rubber meets the road, when that one big moment comes to you, you just gotta take it, man. You gotta make this gig your own, an’ make it last.   
  
This, right here. The two of us, in a diner out in the mile of nowhere, just a girl, a hood, and a bike, that’s what I believe in.   
  
So that old guy can shove it.   
  
Okay, now that dumb old song finally stopped playin’ an’ now the juke’s playin’, get this, _Johnny Remember Me_.   
  
That’s just creepy.   
  
So, anyway, our waffles just came in. I think we’ll be hittin’ the road when we’re through, it looks like the storm’s lettin’ up. The road’s still gonna be kinda icy, though, an’ my head’s really startin’ to bother me again. I also hear there’s sposed to be another storm, an ice storm blowin’ in soon, too.   
Maybe we should wait before startin off again.   
  
Nah. We can make it. My head’ll be fine, an’ if we floor it, we can probably beat the storm anyway. I mean, we’re on the stick, right?   
  
We’ll be fine.


	6. Epilogue: Skidmarks

_“Keep on riding North and West_  
 _Haunting that wilderness road_  
 _Like a ghost rider”_   
  
\- Rush; _Ghost Rider_  


* * *

  
**Um… New Millennium? (I think)**  
  
Whoa, this is crazy!   
  
I can’t believe I actually found this thing! I mean, of all things, the last I’d expect to find is my ol’ journal, all I was really lookin’ to find is some old nuts and bolts or whatever. I gotta nose around the Box Ghost’s place more often. Even if the guy’s a straight loser when it comes to… well, everything, he gets some stuff right. There’s a LOT of stuff in that warehouse thing, too. He should try sellin’ some of his loot. I know some ghosts that would pay through the nose for some Real world junk.   


It’s nice writin’ in this ol’ thing again. It’s like old times. But I’d better stash it someplace good. Can’t let the guys in the Zone in on it, bad for my rep, dig?   
  
Speakin’ of ghosts, I’m startin’ to think I’m the only one round here that that actually likes where he is right now. Everyone else, they’re always so uptight and obsessin’ over stuff they can’t change, I mean, c’mon, lighten up, guys.   
I think even Kitty’s startin’ to get a bit sour, more than usual, I mean, an‘ I‘m not really sure why. I think maybe stayin’ in the Zone is stressin’ her out, or maybe it’s the other ghosts. Or maybe she’s just gettin’ itchy feat. I dunno. But her stressin’ out’s startin’ to stress me out. And like I said before, I don’t like stress.   
  
Anyway, like I was sayin’, as far as I’m concerned, bein’ dead’s a gas.   


Well…except for the dyin’ part. That part kinda hurts. It kinda hurts a lot. A whole lot.   


_“Hey, I have an idea! Let’s try an’ drive through the middle of an ice storm even though I can hardly see the road, the street’s completely iced over, I have a killer head injury and I‘m only the biggest jinx in the universe! It’ll totally work out!”_   


Yeah. Brilliant move there, Johnny-boy.   


And you know what? Nobody even has the decency to tell you you’re dead, either. They just let you figure it out this whole new…ghostly afterlife thing for yourself. I should just count myself lucky I happened to skid into the Ghost Zone in the middle of the Truce, or I mighta gotten myself toasted. (I saw that happen to this new guy once, when he stumbled into the wrong territory. Nasty scene.)   
  
But besides the dyin’ part, bein’ dead’s a gas. A real sweet deal, I mean, you get to go through walls, an’ freak out the living, an’ best of all, Tryst-to-Deck-a-Phobia can fly.   


Man, I don’t care who you are, a flying motorcycle is totally awesome, man. The most killer thing in the world.   


Not to mention them random portals that pop up every now an’ then. Those are just the best, cuz then you get to hang in the Real and lookit how stuff’s changed. Me an’ Kitty, we ended up spendin’ a lot of time in Amity around twenty years back, I think. …Actually, we more, sorta, got stranded there (them portals, they sure like disappearing) and we really didn’t know how to get back to the Ghost Zone, but whatever. It’s in the past.   


My Kitten enjoyed herself more than I did, I think, seein’ how she ended up completely changin’ her look. I mean, a new haircut an’ new wardrobe an’ everything. For a while, I hardly recognized the chick I almost ran over all that time ago.   


Not that I’m complainin’ or anything. The guy who invented fishnets was a man among men, I tell you.   
  
Plus, the whole ghost thing let me finally get ahold of my Shadow. Turns out it’s really just one of him (least, I think it’s a him) instead of a whole bunch. I guess, maybe, it just looked that way cuz of my being alive… or maybe they weren’t just one big Shadow yet, just a bunch of little shadows that got all meshed up together. I mean, I know my Shadow kept gettin’ stronger those whole two months, maybe they just needed time to you know, form together.   


I also think my bein’ alive’s the reason it wouldn’t really listen to me that much back when I was at Casper. Us ghosts, we respect other ghosts. The living are old hat. Real Melvin. You can‘t take ‘em serious at all. I mean, why should we? We can do whatever we want, they can hardly do anything. It’s sorta pathetic to tell the truth.   
  
But the point is, I can control my Shadow now.   


Well, no. That’s not exactly it. I don’ really _control_ it, we just… work together. Like a team.   


Wait, no… That’s not really it either, cuz a team works together, but they’re still separate.   


Hm. Right now, it’s almost like the Shadow an’ I are like… just…together. You feel me? Like we’re sorta…one and the same. Part of each other. Lookin’ back at this journal thing, I can hardly remember bein’ creeped out by my Shadow. Right now, bein’ without it seems downright unnatural.   


Still spooks Kitty sometimes, though. So he doesn’t always show himself when she’s around and we need our space. And now that I finally got the darn thing to listen to me, when I tell Shadow to get lost, it gets lost.   
  
Speakin’ of gettin‘ lost, you know, I only managed to run back into my Shadow until, like a couple of hours after I got here.(And boy, you’d never seen a happier Shadow)   
I don’t really remember seein’ my Shadow from between the crash an’ when I got to the Ghost Zone. At all. Anywhere. Not even lurkin’ around my bike.   


Which is sorta weird, since before it just wouldn’t leave me alone before. Maybe they went off to wander like they usually do. But still, they woulda come back to me after a while. Or maybe I just wasn’t really payin’ attention, what with all the other stuff goin’ on. It’s kinda bizarre, suddenly not seein’ any Shadow around like that.   


Meh. It’s probably nothin’ too important. I probably just didn’t notice my Shadow hangin’ around. That’s probably it.   
  
Lookin’ back on this reminded me of somethin’ else, too. I still got a score to settle. So, a couple of hours ago, after thumbin’ through the old entries, I caught up with the Poindexter kid.   
  
And I mean, literally, caught. 

He sped off soon as he caught sight of my bike commin’ his way, but like I said before, there ain’t nothin’ faster than me, so he was easy enough to catch. Not to mention the kid was really just aimlessly floatin’ and flailin’ around, not that much of a chase.   


Really, the way he acted, you’d think the guy’d never stepped foot out into the Ghost Zone before. Dork.   
  
I get him by the collar, point him in the face an’ I go, “Listen, you. We got unfinished business, dig? First off: quit wigglin’ around, you’re puttin’ strain on my wrist and it’s makin’ you look like a bigger doof than you already are.   
  
“Second, here’s what we’re gonna do: I’m gonna be on your tail for the rest of next week and I’m gonna be watchin’ your stupid back, dig?”   
  
“I–”   
  
“ _And_ you’re gonna like it.”   
  
Poindexter just stares at me, confused, “Um…okay?”   
  
“You’re darn right, ‘ok‘”   
  
“Um… Johnny?”   
  
I sigh, all irritated like, “What?”   
  
“Um… but why?”   
  
“Shut up. That’s why.”   
  
So, that’s that. Come next week, I officially paid off my bike. I got nothin’ hangin’ over my head no more, Johnny’s free as a bird.   
  
But I don’t really start until next week, which means I got plenty of free time for the rest of this week.   
  
I think maybe I’ll swing by Amity Park in the meantime, for some kicks. Haven’t been around those parts in a couple of decades, it might be worth a laugh or three. Kitty’s been naggin’ me lately to take her back to the Real, she says she wants to see the sights. Plus, maybe it’ll get her off that sour mood she’s in. So I’ll probably be takin’ her along with me too.   
  
I hear there’s an open portal somewhere around Amity, near the middle of the Zone. Word is, it’s actually manmade one, can you believe it? Which just makes it a whole lot sweeter, since now we got an easy portal to use instead of ridin’ all over creation lookin’ for a natural one.   
  
But still, a ghost portal’s a ghost portal, and man-made or not those thing never like stayin’ open for too long, so I’d better burn rubber if we’re gonna catch the next ride outta here.   
  
I’m gone. It’s been real, man.  



End file.
